


Theoretically

by wtvoc



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtvoc/pseuds/wtvoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma's friend Killian has a reputation for sleeping around (and so does she). When he gives her a surprising gift on her thirtieth birthday, something about it unleashes the question she's been wondering for years: is he really as good as they say?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bemusedbicycle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemusedbicycle/gifts).



It started, as these things often do, with a fight.  


In this case, a girl fight. Right there in Emma’s apartment. Her own birthday bash, too. Emma could mark her birthdays by the vividly memorable events that often seemed to happen at her parties--her twentieth was the year Tink had done an impressive ninety-three second keg stand, her twenty-second the year Mary Margaret and David had finally hooked up and were totally caught going at it on a patio chair in the backyard. This year--her thirtieth--was going to be remembered as the year when two girls got into an actual fist fight.

“Is anyone going to do anything?” Ruby sighed, sipping at her red Solo cup full of 151 and pineapple juice as she watched with mild interest.

“If they break my TV, I’m going to shoot someone,” Emma commented, watching the two girls get in each other’s faces. When they bumped into her coffee table, knocking some books and a bowl of chips to the carpet, she shouted out an annoyed, “Hey!” and made to wade in, but then Killian entered the living room and everything went deathly still.

“You sonuvabitch,” snarled the brunette (Emma didn’t know either of the girls, but she thought maybe the redhead was the barista from the Starbucks on the north side of MacArthur). The brunette dropped her fistful of the redhead’s hair and launched herself at Killian, whose eyes had gone wide the moment he entered Emma’s living room and taken in the fracas. The redhead seemed confused having lost the object of her anger’s attention, but when she looked over to see the brunette pointing her finger in Killian’s astonished and bright red face, she headed over as well. Emma, Ruby, and pretty much the entire party watched in amusement as their friend got told off by two different women at the same time until he seemed to realize he was in the middle of a spectacle and hastily ushered the two women outside.

“Wha’d I miss?” Regina said, coming in from the balcony. She crossed her arms after slugging back the rest of her red wine in one gulp, the glass dangling from her fingertips. “It was noisy and then it got very quiet.” She looked down at the skewed angle of Emma’s couch and the Doritos that had fallen all over the carpet. “Was there a fight?”

“Killian,” David sighed, leaning down to start scooping chips back in the bowl.

“What’s the manwhore done now?” Regina said wryly, looking around, presumably for more wine. 

“Two of his victims were here at the same time. And I think they found out about each other,” Emma said, her voice even, though she felt incredibly annoyed.

“I can’t believe I’m related to him,” Regina muttered, shaking her head and setting her wine glass down. 

“I can’t believe I once banged him,” Ruby commented thoughtfully. The fight had sort of signaled the end of the party, and as all but their close-knit circle filtered out, those remaining faithful friends started cleaning up the remaining mess. Killian didn’t immediately return, and Emma idly wondered if he’d managed to talk the girls into a threesome.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she muttered to herself, but Ruby heard it.

“What wouldn’t?”

“Nothing. Why are we cleaning this shit up? He should be in here, where’d he go?”

“Home with one of them, probably. Or maybe both,” Rob said brightly, looking properly chastened when Regina shot him a quelling look. 

“He did not go home with either,” came Killian’s voice at that moment. He re-entered the living room, looking flustered and annoyed. “He is right here, and his hearing is excellent.”

“Welcome back, manwhore. Which of your ladies will be the lucky one tonight?” Regina said dryly, tossing two empty Coke cans in his direction. He caught them both and grinned, his eyes flickering briefly to Emma before going back to his sister. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling,” he told her before coming up to Emma. He tucked one of the Coke cans under his arm and rubbed the back of his neck before saying to her in a murmur, “Listen, love. Sorry about that, didn’t mean to ruin your birthday. Old, um. Flames, as it were. I didn’t realize you knew them, I never would have--”

“It’s fine because it’s not my actual birthday yet, so nothing’s ruined,” she said quickly, feeling very uncomfortable for no reason at all. “And I don’t know them. I have no idea who invited them.”

“I’m sor--”

“Yeah, you said that,” Emma grinned, though she felt more exasperated than amused. “Don’t worry about it, manwhore.” He hung his head down in fake shame, but she could see him grin, even though he was facing the floor. 

“Not you, too?”

“Pretty sure I’m the one who made that up back in college, Jones.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, lifting his head and nodding thoughtfully. He walked over and pulled the couch back in place while speaking. “When I called you a tight-arsed book nerd.”

“Arrogant bastard who thinks he’s God’s gift.”

“Self-righteous prig who thinks she knows it all.”

“Asshole with a heart of lead and a cock of--”

“Get a room, you two,” Ruby called out. “Hey Em, I’ve got work early. Do you mind if I cut out?”

“Us, too.” David came over and enveloped Emma in a giant hug. “I’ll come back tomorrow and help you finish cleaning up.”

“No need, Dave,” Killian grinned, walking to the kitchen to rummage around under the sink. He stood and produced a trash bag. “I can stay here all night.”

“Hey now,” David said, helping Mary Margaret into her coat. “Keep your dirty manwhore hands off my sister.”

It was an old refrain. They’d all known each other too long now for any of the barbs to have any real sting, so Killian flipped David off and Mary Margaret returned it with the universal blow job signal. Nothing new.

Regina and Rob took off as well (“I’ve never been a fan of cleaning up after my dumbass brother’s messes”), leaving Emma with Killian, the two of them quietly picking up the remnants of her party. 

“So. Big three-oh,” he said after some companionable clean-up silence. “You doing okay with that, Swan?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m still hot,” she retorted, always ready with a prickly comment for him. “And I make more money than you, so yeah. I’m doing okay with that.”

“Indeed,” he murmured, raking her over with one of his overdone, signature smolders. She had to fight the urge to roll her eyes, instead putting one hand on her hip and striking a pose.

“Look your fill, Jones. You wouldn’t know what to do with me.”

“As you keep telling me,” he said, chuckling as he stuffed a handful of empty bottles in the trashbag. “But I have at least two women who would testify that I could.”

“More than two hundred, probably,” she muttered under her breath. 

“I don’t like to brag,” he said lightly.

“Since when?”

“Since…” He shook his head and laughed. “All right, you’ve got me there.” He shot her a cheeky grin before returning to cleaning, and while the conversation between them had always been like this--barely-restrained sniping--the tension seemed a little thicker than usual. He seemed uncomfortable, and she wanted to know why. But she didn’t ask, because somehow, she knew he would confide in her, and she just didn’t know if she was in the mood to see the dark workings of the complicated mind of Killian Jones.

They worked in a silence for a while, Emma’s mind whirling over possible conversational topics. She acknowledged that Killian, while famous for his bed-hopping, was reliable as a friend, if not as a boyfriend. He was always there for her, or for any of them--ready to bail a girl out when her piece of shit car died on the way to her calculus final or when a date had turned out to be the world’s biggest douchebag. Or when he’d caused a fight in her apartment, and the place needed to be cleaned up because of it.

“What _is_ it with you, anyway?” she demanded, whirling around to face him and feeling annoyance at her sudden exasperation. He looked confused and startled (and hot, Jesus, she forgot sometimes, and she really didn’t blame the girls for fighting over him, literally), so she clarified. “The women, Jones? I didn’t catch it all, but I’m pretty sure part of the fight was because you used your ‘signature move’ on the both of them? Like.... what is it with you?” He laughed, looking rueful as he shrugged his shoulders, but she knew he wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

“What can I say, Swan. I know how to treat a lady.” When he returned to clean-up and didn’t say anything more, Emma felt slightly irritated that he was suddenly playing coy after years of him describing things in gory, elaborate detail. 

“That’s it? No details? Come on, Jones. I’ve been hearing about your prowess for years. At first it was just from you, but then there was that time when Ruby had beer goggles and took you home and wouldn’t shut up about it for days, and then I started hearing it from some girls in that Folklore & Mythology class I took, and I started to realize…”

“That I might just be that good?” Emma turned to look at him, unable to help herself. He got this tone in his voice sometimes, one that hinted at promises fulfilled. She’d been trying to ignore it for years, but she’d also been secretly wondering about it for years.

“No,” she scoffed, a total lie. She hoped he wasn’t paying too close attention, because he’d always been great at reading her. She shifted her shoulders and tried to harden her eyes. “I’m just wondering what it is, specifically, that you do to them.”

“Ah, that. I suppose I simply make them feel...wanted. Like they’re the only one in the world, at least at that moment.” He quirked his mouth at the corner as he spoke, and she thought maybe she was reading into it too much when the slight smile didn't reach his eyes. “That’s my specialty. Why, interested?”

And then--maybe because she’d just turned thirty and felt more confident and powerful than ever, or maybe it was because around her twenty-sixth she’d finally acknowledged that she really did wonder if he was as good as they said he was--Emma decided to throw his innuendo back in his pretty, pretty face.

“Maybe.” She walked toward him, putting a little sway in her hips for good measure. “Something tells me it isn’t all gossip and boys’ locker room bragging.” She stopped right in front of him and reached out slowly, putting a plate with half-eaten cake into his bag before letting her hand slide up his arm. When she got to his shoulder she brushed at a piece of non-existent lint and then kept going until she reached his jaw. She drummed her fingertips lightly along his scruffy chin before burying them in his beard and scratching none-too-lightly. “Maybe it’s time I found out for myself.” She met his eye, expecting the usual amusement, but she caught the tail-end of a glare. He hid it well, though; if she hadn’t known him as long as she had, she may not have even noticed, but it was definitely there. For a half second, he had been angry, and she had no idea why. But he recovered quickly, cocking the corner of his mouth in that charming and smarmy smirk of his.

“Now that would be interesting. And fun.”

“Fun.”

“Aye, love.” He pursed his lips and she unconsciously mirrored the movement before taking a deep breath, hit with a sudden case of the nerves. He was sending too many signals, some of them conflicting. It would be annoying if she hadn’t already realized she’d been doing the exact same thing to him for years.

“You couldn’t handle it,” he murmured after a fashion, his breath puffing out and teasing the back of her hand.

They stood there like that for a heartbeat or two, the air thick and hot between them. His lids were lowered, his steady gaze alternating between where she was still touching him and her mouth. 

“Maybe you’re the one who couldn’t handle it, Jones,” she said softly, ignoring the voice warning her from playing with fire before licking her lips and feeling that sharp flash of anticipation the moment before you kiss someone.

But he pulled back, tearing his gaze and his heat from her, leaving her feeling slightly stunned. Jones may have had a reputation for sleeping around, but Emma had a rep, too--“The One-Night Wonder,” a nickname from Jones himself. She just wasn’t as indiscreet as he was. She also wasn’t used to being rebuffed, and while the distant part of her mind was screaming _he is your friend, don’t ruin it_ , the part of her that was confident in her own abilities felt a twinge of both ire and shame. She didn’t like it. Not when it was Killian. He may have been less-than-great with most women, but never with her. He had always treated her with respect. Well, after he’d given up trying to fuck her the first six or so months they knew each other, anyway.

“What, afraid you won’t live up to your own legend?” she called out as he tied off the trash bag. Emma was surprised that her apartment was almost back to normal, and slightly crestfallen that it meant he’d be leaving. _God, what is my problem_ , she thought irritably. 

“Oh, I’d live up to it,” he said stiffly. He washed his hands and went to grab his jacket that he’d slung on the back of her couch. She watched, feeling like she’d just fucked up, though she couldn’t say why. It wasn’t like they hadn’t teased each other about their mutual affinities for sleeping around over the years. She wanted to holler at him _don’t go_ , feeling like things had just changed imperceptibly and wanting to figure out why, but it felt too much like she’d ruined something good. 

_This is why we never slept together._

He didn’t immediately leave, however; he was rifling around in the inner pocket of his leather jacket, and when he seemed to find what he was looking for, he approached her cautiously, his whole body tense and very much unlike his usual loose and swaggering self. He stuck his hand out, producing a small black box right in the center of his palm. 

Emma suddenly felt shy, an odd feeling around Jones. She looked from the box to his face, noticing how he seemed carefully blank and guarded, like he was shielding the usual humor and easiness he had around her. 

When she didn’t make to take the box, he urged it toward her.

“Happy Birthday, Emma,” he said softly. Hesitating only a second more, she reached out for it with a soft “thank you,” and he turned quickly before she could open it. 

When she heard the door shut softly behind him, she lifted the lid. Inside was something she’d seen him wear around his neck almost every day since they’d met--a simple chain that she’d recognize anywhere because yes, she’d often daydreamed while staring at his chest. Whenever they’d gone to the beach or the boys had done shirtless work out in the hot sun, he’d taken the thing off, so she’d never seen what was dangling at the end of his ever-present necklace.

It was a ring. Silver and thick, a small, red stone in a simple setting. It looked worn around the edges, and she felt with an odd sort of certainty that it meant something to him. He’d been wearing rings since she’d first met him--hell, it had been one of the things that made him stand out to her in the first place--but she knew it wasn’t one of those. If it had been dangling on the chain he’d kept tucked in his shirt all this time, then she wondered at its significance.

She resolved to find out.

* * *

The following day she dropped by his office during the lunch hour; she often got to do as she pleased with what she did, and as it happened, she had no active stakeouts to perform and all of her “date” research was completed by eleven. So, she figured Killian could use lunch. She sailed by his executive assistant, Mr. Smee (it never failed to amuse her that he’d chosen an untidy male for the job, but Smee was as loyal to Killian as Killian was to his own libido), smiling as she pushed the door to his office open.

“Ah, the Birthday Girl herself,” he said, a slight smile on his lips. He noticed the bag in her hand and his eyes lit up.

“Is it--?”

“It is.” She dropped the bag on his desk and pulled one of the chairs he had for clients closer, sitting heavily and sprawling back in the comfort of the leather. With a shit-eating grin, he opened the bag and began digging around, handing her a paper-wrapped grilled cheese and putting his cheeseburger in front of him, right on top of the papers sprawled out on his desk. He took out the giant order of fries and she grabbed the paper bag with the “Granny’s” logo from him, smoothing it out on the space between them so he could dump the fries out on top.

“So,” Killian said after swallowing a large and unseemly bite from his burger. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Shouldn’t I be the one bringing you a nostalgic lunch on the day of your birth?”

Emma finished chewing and took a swig from his mug of tepid coffee before answering. “Actually. This is me awkwardly and insufficiently thanking you for the gift. It seems…”

“Ah, that.”

“Killian.” She put down the last bite of her sandwich and wiped her fingers on a napkin. “It’s...it feels like too much? I mean, is this important to you? I appreciate it and all, but--”

“We never made a ‘hey, if we’re both unmarried by thirty’ deal. Relax, Swan. It isn’t a proposal.”

Emma frowned. Something was off with him. He wasn’t looking directly at her, which was weird, because he was always so cocky, so “in your face” with his blue, blue eyes and his smirks. Seeing him be anything but sure of himself was weird, he was being _weird_. He cleared his throat and said softly, “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while now. Your birthday seemed a good time.”

“Oh.” Not knowing how else to respond, Emma poked at a few fries but didn’t eat them, hating how it all felt so odd. She and Killian had often done this over the years--enjoyed a quick meal, just the two of them, catching each other up on their jobs or their non-existent love lives (though he had always been quick to assure her that his sex life was just fine and healthy, thank you). It had always been so easy. Deep down inside she sort of disliked the dynamic, though she could never say why. 

One time when they had been buried in a corner booth at their old stomping ground of a bar, celebrating when he passed the state Bar exam, he’d leaned into her neck and laughed at some dumb drunk-person comment she’d made, and it had set her imagination running to wild. An image of him on top of her, showing her a good time, scratching her favorite itch. At the time she’d chalked it off as alcohol making her horny, like it usually did, but the fact that she couldn’t rid herself of the memory of how she’d shivered at the close contact was something she thought about long after, even now. Killian Jones was always a potential one-nighter for her, she knew that. And she knew he knew it, too. But Emma never saw her one-night stands again.

It was probably why neither of them ever did anything about it, choosing to stay good friends instead. She didn’t want to lose him.

“It was Liam’s,” he offered quietly, poking the last piece of his burger in his mouth and finally looking at her. He chewed with purpose while he watched her without flinching, and she found herself returning his direct and intense stare. 

_I can’t believe he gave me his brother’s ring._

“Jones. Are you sure you--”

“Swan,” he sighed. He dusted his hands off and then lifted the corner of his mouth while shaking his head a little. “Your line of work is dangerous. That ring has kept me alive all these years, and we both know I’ve done some rather moronic things in my life. I’m in a good place now, no longer in need of Liam’s lucky ring. I wanted to give you something nice, and maybe give you a little of that luck. Bring it with you when you’re in pursuit of glorious bounty, would you? I--we all worry about you out there in the big, bad world.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Aye, don’t I know it,” he chuckled. “Still. I’d hate it if you came to harm one of these days, so I suppose it’s really a gift for me, which seems in character, does it not? My giving you a gift that serves my own purposes? You don’t have to wear it around your neck, in your bag would be fine. If you don’t like a hand-me-down, I can always--”

Keeping her eyes on his and letting him continue to ramble, Emma propped one elbow on the edge of his desk. She brought her hand to her chest and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse, reaching in and running her thumb under the warm chain around her neck. He stopped babbling when she pulled the necklace out, slowly bringing her hand forward and feeling the metal warmed by her body bumping along her skin. When she got far enough, the ring popped out, and she caught it in her fist before opening three of her fingers and showing him it was there.

The grin that lit up his face was stunning. Emma had thought she’d seen every single one of the man’s smiles--the arrogant, smirky one; the “yep, definitely just had sex in the bathroom” one; the apologetic “sorry i just had sex in your bathroom” one; the one following a double entendre; the one right before innuendo. The sheepish one. The drunk, loving the entire world one. The unsure, am-I-bothering-you one. But this? This was like, happy. It’s the only word she could use to describe it. He looked damned _happy_ to see her wearing his ring around her neck.

“I love it. No takebacks.” The grin didn’t let up on his face, and it began to make Emma feel uncomfortable. She got this flash in her mind of what it would be like to make him smile like that more often, and as enticing as it was, she didn’t think she could handle that. So she didn’t. Instead, she decided to change the subject.

“So,” she said casually, hastily tucking the chain back in her blouse before drinking the rest of his coffee. “Who’s it gonna be tonight?”

“Hmm?” He stood and snatched the mug out of her hand, traces of that wonderful smile still on his face. He walked over to the Keurig she’d gotten him the day he started his fancy lawyer job and fixed another cup, handing it to her and then going back to fix another for himself. “How’s that?”

“The redhead, the brunette, someone new?” Emma felt her mouth go dry, so she sipped at the slightly-too-hot coffee, cursing herself for fumbling. But hell, in her defense, it wasn’t like it was out of the blue for Emma to ask after Killian’s sexcapades.

She looked over the rim of her (his) mug and saw him stiffen visibly; when he turned around with a fresh mug in his hands, she noticed that all traces of the nice smile had vanished to be replaced by another one of his smiles--the tight, barely-controlled “I do not wish to be having this conversation, Swan” tilt of his lips accentuated by the icing over of his eyes. Emma cringed inwardly; why was she like this? Why did she always ruin nice moments? It was her own birthday, for crying out loud!

“Those women were from ages ago,” he said tersely as he sat down. His unrelenting posture told Emma a lot--mostly that he really did not want to talk about them, and hell. Neither did she. “I’m trying to reform my evil ways. I’m told I’m too old for such shenanigans.”

“You’re the same age as me.”

“And yet.” He sipped at his coffee, his eyes still hard as he looked at her. She raised an eyebrow and he answered with a lifted brow of his own. She hated when it was like this--it was, sometimes, often when they had run into each other after being out all night, though that hadn’t happened in a while--and she suddenly regretted ever bringing up Killian and his famous habit of sleeping around once again. She hated this kind of tension between them.

“Jones,” she sighed, putting her mug down. “Let’s not do this.”

“Not do what? I thought we were celebrating the birth of my favorite bounty hunter and sharing lunch and talking about my sexual prowess. Again. You bring it up often, you know.”

“Do not,” she scoffed.

“Oh, but you do,” he said, his voice low and kind of, well. Hot. 

“No one is less interested in your sexual prowess than me, Jones.”

“One might almost think your curiosity a bit improper for someone not interested, then.”

“Jones--”

“Hmm?” He looked at her with both brows raised this time, the very picture of innocence. But there was still dark intent swimming around in his eyes, and it made her own eyes narrow. 

“Shut your mouth.”

“Only because it’s your birthday,” he said, soft and deadly, then louder, “But I’ll have you know, I’m quite good at opening it wide.” She closed her eyes and shook her head, smiling despite herself. This was more comfortable territory, and she silently thanked him for forgiving her for almost ruining their nice moment.

“In fact,” he continued, reverting to his cocky, bragging self. “It’s one of the many services that you asked about last night. Making a woman feel wanted, and opening wide. Also, there is this delicious thigh-massaging thing I do--”

Once upon a time, Emma would have cut him off with a put-upon groan, or maybe lobbed a pen at his beautiful face, or splashed hot coffee into his lap. Once upon a time. But it was her birthday, and, well. He’d started to get to her. This guy she’d known over ten years--this guy she’d never so much as kissed anywhere but on the cheek--he was getting to her. And since it was her birthday, she decided to play along. Like, as a gift to herself.

“Do you take your rings off for that, or is it more of a thing for you to keep them on?”

She felt a smirk curl her mouth on one side when that stopped him cold. Before last night, she’d never returned his shit, never once. 

“I mean, a girl hears so many stories. She starts to wonder.”

“Swan,” he warned darkly, his eyes completely losing that hard, haunted look from earlier and brightening into something more interesting, and maybe a little dangerous.

_You’re playing with fire, Emma._

“Tell me,” she murmured, leaning forward to brace her elbows on the desk, well-aware her shirt was still unbuttoned and that she was pushing her tits together and glowing with triumph when his eyes darted there briefly before flicking back up to hers. “About these other services.”

They stared each other down for a moment--a silent challenge--and Emma saw in his unflinching gaze the moment he decided to fuck her up. He swallowed once, his eyes changing from their usual soft and approachable blue to something darker, something slightly sinister. Just before he started to kill her with words, she saw his upper lip tick into a sneer, and she focused her attention there as he began to speak filth.

“The spot right below your ear. I like to whisper what I’d do to you just there.”

“Hmm.”

“I could remove your undergarments with one hand, or just my teeth. All undergarments. If you were wearing any.”

_Oh, God._

“I could make you come only touching your breasts.”

 _No_ , she thought with desperation.

“But my favorite, favorite thing, Emma Swan,” and here he paused, nearly killing her. She pressed her thighs together and leaned toward him against her will, in agony over what he’d say next. She didn’t want to know.

_Tell me, goddammit._

“Is tasting.” He said it softly, his tongue visible as he spoke deliberately. “I’m told I’m quite good. And you, darling, would taste delicious. I just know it.”

She let out a breath, her lips parted, no sound coming out, but he seemed to hear it anyway. She saw another smile she’d often seen but had never really been directed at her (that was a lie)--one that offered one helluva night. A terrible, dark smile, one she suddenly found incredibly appealing.

“I almost want to say I wouldn’t do that to you, though.”

“Why?” she blurted out stupidly, because why the fuck not?

“I’d likely come myself while doing it, were it you, and I’d definitely want to save it to fuck you properly. So my oral skills would be off the table.” He said it matter-of-factly, like it was a certainty. His confidence always had been one of the most attractive things about him.

“Fuck that,” she said, leaning back. He’d sort of broken the spell he’d put her under with his switch from seductive tone to regular old Killian Jones, and she was glad for it. Because no. She’d definitely want that. She wanted that. She wanted it so bad she could practically taste it.

Oh, God, taste it. She wanted to be tasted. She wanted it bad. It had been far too long, and most guys weren’t great at it, even when she felt comfortable enough letting them do it. Somehow, she knew Killian wasn’t lying about how good he was.

_Get out, Swan! Get out now!_

“Fine choice of words,” he said, raising his eyebrows high. Emma noticed with glee that his cheeks were pink, a sure sign that he was just as affected by his own dirty talk as she was. _Good_ , she thought darkly. This was a fucking game, and she wanted to win.

But he wasn’t done playing with her, it seemed. 

“So, how ‘bout it, Swan? Which would you rather have?” He picked up his mug and sipped, and she couldn’t help but notice how his tongue poked out to lick at the corner of his mouth. His pink tongue, his tongue that had dirty sex words rolling off of it, his tongue that promised to do terrible, wonderful things to her.

All she had to do was ask.

“What’re you offering, Jones? Theoretically,” she asked nonchalantly, but they were both aware that she’d just accepted the challenge he’d suddenly dropped in between them--right on top of his desk, if she wanted. 

“In a hypothetical situation, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose I’m offering either the best oral of your life, or the best fuck of your life. Which would you choose?”

“Hmm.” She tapped her chin, pretending to think, but she didn’t really have to. “Both.”

“Don’t be that way, Swan. The game is this: you have to choose.”

“Consider this, Jones: it’s my birthday. I get both.”

“Theoretically.”

“Theoretically. If you were theoretically offering me a good time, then because it’s my birthday, I would theoretically get both the best theoretical oral of my life and the best theoretical fuck of my life. Theoretically.”

“Right.”

They stared at each other again, Emma wondering which of them would break first. She knew her chest was heaving, and she wondered if he was hard. The way he shifted a little in his chair seemed to indicate that yes, he was getting there, and desperate not to let on. Just like she was clenching like crazy inside and trying not to picture his dark head between her legs, those bright eyes of his staring at her as he went to town.

_God, I want that._

Her mind was made up before she even realized it. 

“My place, seven.”

“I’ll bring the whiskey.”

“I’ve got condoms.”

“You won’t have enough,” he promised. She gulped and stood quickly, almost knocking her chair over in her haste. _I gotta get out of here._

“Later, Jones.”

“Until then, Swan.”  



	2. Chapter 2

Killian was prompt, like always. Emma had spent the rest of the day in a daze, alternating between almost talking herself into calling the whole thing off and trying to figure out whether to put on some makeup, and all the while fielding phone calls and texts from everyone wishing her a happy birthday. She was grateful that no one offered to take her out to dinner, relieved that the party the night before had been enough. She didn’t know how she’d fumble an excuse about how she was going to be spending her birthday evening. **  
**

As she stood in her bedroom, her hands on her hips, Emma wondered what to do about clothes. Did she put in any kind of effort? Should she shower again? Put on her thigh highs and an easy-access skirt? Should she wear lipstick?

What do you wear for a sure thing with one of your best friends who you’ve known since you were nineteen?

She settled on keeping her button-up and leggings on (but removing what was underneath) and leaving her face as it was; she told herself if she put effort into her appearance, then it would be mean more than what it was, so she stayed as is. She also ended up making herself hyper with more coffee, trying to keep from thinking about it, going on a mini cleaning frenzy. She swiped down her kitchen counters, vacuumed, and made sure there was no underwear hanging off chairs or anything equally embarrassing, which was stupid, as Jones had been seeing her in her own sloppy habitat ever since college. But this was...different. This was Killian as she’d never seen him before. Sure, she’d seen him kissing all kinds of girls over the years (and secretly wishing someone would kiss her like that, sheesh), but it had never been her. And now they were finally going to do it.

Finally?

Yes, finally. Even if she’d never admit it to him, she could say that she’d known this had been bound to happen for years. Why not on her thirtieth, right?

“Happy birthday,” he said when she answered the door. He leaned down to kiss her just beyond her cheek and she nearly stumbled; sure, he’d kissed her there over the years, in a friends way; this was very different. The way he paused just before his lips brushed her skin, the way his warm breath spread across her jaw and next to her ear. The way he remained there for a moment, his stubble rubbing against her face as he pulled away.

“You said that already,” she said softly, feeling weirdly flustered.

“Well, as I’m here for your other theoretical birthday gift, I thought it appropriate,” he grinned. She met his eyes and what she saw there made her pause--he looked...soft, for lack of a better adjective. She wasn’t exactly sure what she had expected; his words were their usual cocky smarminess, but his eyes were another matter entirely. He wasn’t trying to burn a hole through her pants, he simply looked like plain ole Killian. He hadn’t even gone out of his way to dress all ladykiller--he’d changed out of his three-piece suit and had put on jeans, a button-up, and his trusty leather jacket, like it was any old day and he was just coming over to watch movies and eat chow mein. “Do you still--may I come in?” His words were polite but his tone was suddenly uncertain, and hell. She was uncertain, too. 

_Not really._

“Yeah. Come on in.”

“Here.” He thrust out his fist, his fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle of Bushmill’s with a red ribbon tied around it, a folded piece of paper between two knuckles. She took both, giving him a close-lipped smile as she side-stepped and let him enter her place. 

“What’s this?” she asked, opening the paper and laughing a little. She looked up and he was looking at her sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders in an apology.   


_Test results for Jones, Killian_

“Clean as a whistle, Swan. I heard you talking about your test results with Ruby last week, so I thought I should show you mine...” He trailed off, his cheeks pink, and Emma could feel her own blush blooming on her face.   


_Why is this so awkward? It’s just Jones. We’re just being responsible and mature adults. Who want to fuck each other._

“Aww, Swan. Did you clean up just for me?” He was looking around, a gleeful smile and beginnings of a smirk on his face. She had to shut _that_ down right away.

“Theoretically, yes. In reality, no.” She was trying to be light and carefree, but she was pretty sure he could read her nervousness. Luckily, he seemed just as nervous, simply standing there and not settling in on her couch like he normally would, or helping himself to a beer out of the fridge. 

“Drink?” she offered, waggling the bottle between them as she tossed his test results on her counter, thinking maybe it would help relieve the tension. He shook his head, though, so she just stood there, looking at everything but his face, suddenly cursing herself for the awkwardness.

_Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, after all._

“How was the rest of your day?” he asked, also going for nonchalant and managing to fall short. Emma was starting to realize they could do this all night, go back and forth on tenterhooks, so she asked herself whether it was what she really wanted.

Did she really want to fuck Killian Jones?

“Fine,” she replied, distracted. She set the whiskey down and turned back to face him; he raised both arms and rubbed his palms across his head, making his hair stand in crazy directions as he clasped his hands behind his neck. He looked at her then, really looked at her, and she could see the same question in his eyes that she’d just been asking herself. It was his hesitation that decided it for her. She took a few steps until she was right in front of him, tilting her neck back and keeping her gaze trained on his. “I’m fine.” 

He seemed to understand that--he always had been good at hearing the things she didn’t say--nodding slightly before closing his eyes as if to steady himself. When he opened them again, he seemed clearer, but still doubt-filled, still questioning. She hated that. As long as she’d known him, he’d been so certain, so sure of himself. Now here he was, standing in front of her and doubting. Was it his own self that he doubted, or her? 

_Probably me._

That acknowledgement frustrated her, mostly because it was fair, so she did the only thing she knew that would take away both his doubt and hers. 

She pressed up onto her toes and kissed him, right on the mouth. 

It startled him and he leaned his head back, breaking the one-sided kiss to look down into her face, that question still there.

_Kiss me back, Jones._

“Emma. Are you quite certain you wish to do this?”

“Killian,” she sighed. She dropped back down to her feet and put her hands on his chest. He seemed comforted by that, bringing his hands up to cover hers, warm and soothing; it wasn’t a move, more like something he did to steady her, and maybe himself, too. He squeezed her fingers lightly, and it was so reassuring that she smiled. He smiled back, and this one was a smile she’d only seen a few times before, always when it was just the two of them--the kind of smile that made her think that maybe she knew what he’d been like as a kid.

“You promised me fun,” she reminded him, and when she said it, she curled one corner of her mouth up. The focus of his attention shifted there, and the bottom half of him swayed toward her, so she swayed right on back. His breathing hitched but he continued looking at her mouth, and as she tilted her head toward him again, he leaned down, and then his lips were on hers.

The kiss was...unexpected. He wasn’t devouring her mouth or licking at her lips. He was just kind of staying there, his entire body still, though it was still pressed against hers. His hands didn’t go anywhere; he didn’t cup her jaw or brush her arms or try to cop a feel. He simply put his mouth on her mouth, and he breathed in and out through his nose. So that’s what she did, too, just feeling him against her, and allowing herself to feel him against her. She hadn’t realized it until just then that she’d expected him to turn into some ravishing, dark, Byronic hero-type, but there he was, being gentle and kind of...reverent, actually. It was disconcerting, and she wasn’t sure that’s what she had signed up for. It was too real, too filled with longing. Whether it was his or hers, she couldn’t say.

“Show me what you’ve been hinting at for years,” she whispered when they pulled apart. He nodded, his eyes squeezing tight for a second before he took a deep breath. He leaned back down to drag his lips across hers, his tongue flicking out and tickling one corner of her mouth, then across the seam to the other side. He continued to nibble and play as she came to know the shape of his mouth and what he tasted like. He squeezed her hands briefly before smoothing his palms down her arms, caressing lightly, his fingers delving in and brushing the insides of her elbows before continuing on and stopping at her shoulders. Then he was wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into him, his body so warm and solid that she sighed with pleasure.

“Lovely sound,” he murmured against her lips before coming back for another searing kiss, this time his mouth and tongue lazy as he explored her, the gentle push-and-pull so comfortable and so dangerous at the same time. Emma could feel a low pulsing beginning all over her body but especially down south, wondering if he kissed like that everywhere, and she felt the desperate need to throw down and demand he fuck her on the spot.

“Bedroom,” she breathed into his mouth, yanking on his shirt rough and hard, but it made him drop his arms as he laughed, husky and low.

“Impatient,” he called her, enunciating each syllable slow and intimate into her ear.

“Bedroom,” she repeated.

“No, Swan,” he said seriously, facing her again and tipping his chin down to look right into her eyes. “You wished to know what I do to make a woman feel wanted. So that’s what I’m going to show you.” He continued to look at her, his stare direct and almost disquieting, but it was Killian, so she wasn’t really discomfited. More like...unsettled. He stared and she bit her lip under his scrutiny, wondering if he was asking himself whether it was really worth it.

“The gentle slope of your nose drives me mad sometimes,” he said softly as he pulled away from her, taking his warmth with him. He crossed his arms and stood a little taller, looking down at her from his height. “And your ears.”

“My ears?” she chuckled, wishing he’d stop talking and use his mouth in those ways he’d promised instead.

“Aye, your ears. They’re perfect. It’s maddening.” He stepped toward her again, reaching out with one arm to wrap around her waist and pull her into him. Without another word he dropped his head to her neck, breathing hot and steady against her pulse before nuzzling up and biting at her earlobe. 

Emma could feel her toes curling into the carpet. She had to reach out to brace herself against him, one of her own arms going around his waist. _He said he makes women feel wanted_ , she had to tell herself. _It’s nothing more than that._  Well, she was definitely feeling wanted. He dragged his scruff down her skin, his mouth hot on her neck as he kept going, nosing around under the collar of her shirt and mouthing at her collarbone. She could feel the soft brush of his teeth and she wanted to holler out for him to just bite her already, dammit. 

He seemed to hear her silent entreaty, the sharp crinkle of his teeth as they sank into her flesh making her gasp in shocked delight. Then just as quick he soothed it over with his tongue then wrapped his lips around the aching flesh, sucking lightly and increasing the pressure until it started to pierce again, the ache turning to a sharp pleasure-pain that shot all the way down to her thighs. 

When he let go she let out a shuddering breath, dropping her forehead against the top of his head, breathing heavy and wondering how she’d make it out of this alive if he was only putting his mouth on her collarbone.

“Bedroom?” she panted desperately. She wanted to whoop in triumph when he simply nodded, heaving in some breaths of his own.

“Yeah, all right,” he said roughly. He pulled back and when she looked up to see him drag his tongue across his bottom lip, she had to look away for how desperate she was for him, for more of his tongue on places. Problem was, she looked away toward his eyes, and the half-lidded inspection he was giving her made the throbbing ache inside much worse.

Without another word he turned and headed toward her bedroom, pausing at the entrance to the hallway to look over his shoulder, his eyes still hooded, his chest heaving slightly.

“Coming, Swan?” Then he gave her his lusty smirk, and her eyes narrowed.

“I’d better be, Jones.” 

His eyes narrowed in turn. He looked her up and down a couple of times before threatening her with, “You will.” Then he turned and walked down her hall, and she followed, unable to do anything else.

Her bedroom was faintly lit by a warm, golden glow coming from a single bedside lamp. She’d forgotten to turn it off but it worked to her advantage as she could now watch Killian getting undressed. His leather jacket was already on the floor and she entered the room to the sight of him facing the side of the bed, the soft haze from the lamp highlighting his profile. His elbow jerked as he unbuttoned his shirt, a sign of impatience that made her grin. _Glad I’m not the only one_. She watched the back of him, admiring the long lines of his body and imagining him completely bared to her for the first time like this, and she smiled in anticipation.

 _He really is a beautiful specimen_ , she thought to herself, suppressing the sigh that creeped up her throat as he yanked his shirt from where it was tucked but kept it hanging loosely on his lean frame. She leaned against the doorway, waiting. Just waiting for him to turn around.

“You just gonna admire the view all night, Birthday Girl?”

“Maybe.”

“I thought I was here to show you what it is I do.”

“Theoretically.” She shoved off the doorway, coming toward him and pausing just behind where he was standing. She reached up and brushed at the small strip of skin between the collar of his shirt and the line of his thick hair, one finger touching his skin, tracing from one mole to the next before stopping and scratching at him lightly. He curled into her touch, his head tilting back, his hair brushing her skin. It felt exquisite, she felt exquisite. Exquisite anticipation thrumming in her belly, exquisite want propelling her forward. 

She dropped her hand, letting it caress his back lazily. He may have been able to drive women crazy with whatever it was that he did (and she was beginning to get a pretty damned good idea of what that was, exactly), but she was no slouch, either. Emma knew that there was a reason the men she fucked exactly once always tried to get her number, always wanted a repeat performance. She never let them, not needing the headache of some guy eventually disappointing her when he did something gross or stupid, but this was different.

She knew without actually thinking the thought that Killian wouldn’t do that. She’d known him for too long to know that he wouldn’t be a disappointing morning after, or a disappointing date after. 

_This isn’t a date, it’s a one-night stand._

_Sure it is._

She blinked slowly, finishing her drag down his back by tugging on the material of his shirt at his elbow. Without a further glance, she walked over to the head of the bed and flopped down, her legs sprawled over the edge, propping herself up on her elbows. She didn’t watch him as he finished unbuttoning, knowing what she’d see beneath and not wanting him to see her reaction. She knew he kept himself fit; they used to run together back in college, and she knew he’d kept it up, and went to the gym almost every morning besides. She’d seen him shirtless many times over the years, but all of those times she’d made some smart-ass comment about how he was showing off (and he’d always retorted that one doesn’t squander what God gave him to work with). This time, she’d be free to appreciate those God-given and high-impact cardio-improved abs of his, but she didn’t necessarily want him to know that.

He shrugged out of his shirt as he stepped over between her legs; she stubbornly kept staring forward, but from her vantage point that meant right at crotch-level, and she definitely noticed the action going on there. Chuffing a bit, she flitted her gaze up his body, taking in the definition of the abs that she’d been dreading without pausing there, continuing up, her eyes tracing the sharp, sinewy lines of him--the way his collarbones jutted just so, the way the veins in his arms stood out, practically paving the way for her lewd perusal up his biceps, the definition there enough to make her want to claw her fingers into them whenever he ended up on top of her.

“It hardly seems fair that you should ogle me when you’re still fully dressed,” he commented thoughtfully, drawing her attention up to his face. There was humor in his eyes--humor and filth. She smirked before shimmying her hips a little, kicking her feet to bump against his calves. 

“Hey, I’m the birthday girl, remember? You’re supposed to be doing all the work here.”

“I’m the one doing the unwrapping of the gift, is it?” She nodded in response, a lopsided grin making a brief appearance on his face. “Very well, then.” He dropped down to his knees, his face now at a level with hers. He rested his palms on top of her thighs, not moving or doing anything, simply kneeling there and looking at her.

Just before the unsettled feeling had a chance to steal over her once again, he squeezed lightly, his fingertips tugging at the material of the leggings she wore. 

“Going for gold first, huh?”

“Hush. Let a man work.” He tugged on her pants again but made no move to take them off. Instead, he dug his fingertips into her thighs, prodding and massaging just-this-side of hard, then removing the pressure and sliding his palms up. He paused at the edge of the shirt she wore, his fingertips skimming along the hem before dipping beneath the material, pinching it to drag up. He revealed her belly, his eyes trained on that sliver of skin, looking first to the left then the right with such intensity it made her feel like he was actually touching her, though his fingers were still holding the soft cotton of her shirt.

She was about to hustle him along when he leaned forward, bending at the waist and placing a kiss right on the slight roundness of her belly, the scruff of his chin rough in comparison to the barely-there brush of his lips. She held onto her breath, watching as he hovered there, his breath warm against her. He turned his face to the side, the soft crinkle of his beard brushing along the exposed strip of belly. It tickled in the good way, the feeling shooting straight down to her pelvis and making her toes twitch and her knees jerk ever-so-slightly.

He chuckled against her, turning his head to face the other way, repeating the tickle, her legs jerking softly again, though not quite as much.

 _This isn’t so bad_ , she thought to herself. Most men she’d been with didn’t take their time like this, and it was nice, even though she kind of wanted him to just get on with it.

She should have known. Killian Jones wasn’t most men.

He laughed against her, the sound and feeling both so very warm. She pushed her hips up a little, silently urging him on, but that only made him laugh more, a hint of threat in the laughter. He pressed a kiss into her skin and then looked up at her, his eyes blazing, and a little defiant. Keeping that eye contact, he opened his mouth wide and licked at her exposed flesh, slow and dirty, one eyebrow lifting when she sucked in a breath. Then he gently clenched the waistband of her leggings between his teeth and dragged down, his nose brushing where he’d licked, his blue-eyed gaze fixed on hers. She held her breath, silently thanking him for finally, finally getting down to business.

He didn’t, though. He let go of her pants with a soft snap and sat back,  just when it could have gotten interesting. She tensed up with _no, please_ , her lungs desperate in her chest. But then--oh God, then. He ran his palms down her thighs, sweeping his thumbs down and in and squeezing, applying the barest of pressure until she spread her legs wider. With a dirty grin, he leaned down and nestled his face between her legs, his mouth resting right where her thighs parted, unmoving.

“Killian,” she warned, hating how breathless it sounded.

“Relax, Emma,” he said against her, his words hot through her pants. “Let me do this right.” She closed her eyes and nodded, not caring whether he could see her impatience. She tried to relax, too, suddenly aware how she was clenching her leg muscles, her entire body tight with tension. She eased up a little, taking a deep breath and pursing her lips to push it out steadily, slowly willing herself to do as requested and relax. And it worked, almost--she felt the slow tingle in the center of her, the anticipation as the tension in her pelvis eased up--and that’s when he moved. Hot and heavy, he pressed his face where she’d just relaxed, making her clench up all over again. Before she could so much as curse at him, he breathed against her. She could feel the movement of his lips through the thin material of her leggings, could feel how wet she was when he pulled back slightly, cool air settling in where his face had just been.

She wanted to grab his head. She wanted to shove her fingers in his hair and pull him back to her, make him do more of that. She wanted him to yank her pants off, spread her open, and make her feel good.

“All in good time, Swan,” he chuckled darkly, like he’d heard her. He was still close to her so his words were slightly muffled, and she felt the tremor of his laughter between her thighs. 

“Fuck you,” she panted, opening her eyes and glaring at him.

“Later,” he promised, coming up for air long enough to seal the promise with an intense look before continuing. He squeezed her thighs again, this time applying more pressure, urging her legs to spread more. She obliged him, opening them wider, sighing when he dipped down to nuzzle at the crease between thigh and pelvis. He nipped at her there and she could feel his teeth through her leggings; she cursed him silently when he dragged his face across to the other side, the heat from his mouth all-too-brief against where she was throbbing and definitely wanted him to be. He nuzzled at the crease some more, his breathing ragged and gratifying. She didn’t have to wonder whether he was as keyed-up as she was; she could see it in the stiff set of his shoulders braced against her splayed-open legs, could see it in the flash of promising threat in his eyes every time he glanced at her, which was often. 

She opened her mouth to say--something, anything, urge him on, maybe, or curse him for dragging it out like this. But then he met her eye and quirked the corner of his mouth, that cocky smirk she always saw him flash at girls in bars, nameless girls that she knew would end up in his bed. The thought of him with those other girls brought a frown to her face, and he dropped the arrogance and looked at her with concern.

“Let me take care of you, Swan,” he said softly, genuinely, and it had to have been one of the only times in their long acquaintance that he read her wrong, but she wasn’t about to correct him.

“Fucking get on with it, then,” she huffed. He gave her a look of exasperation, sitting up slightly, propping his elbows on either of her thighs and resting his chin on his folded hands. 

“You asked me to show you why I come so highly recommended,” he said, a slight tone of accusation behind his words. “And I told you I’d make you feel wanted. Don’t you feel, it, Swan?” He dropped his hands and leaned forward, kissing the mound of flesh covered by stretchy material slowly, like he was enjoying it. She could feel his lips against her and she sighed, knowing soon there would be no pants in the way to keep her from _really_ feeling his lips there. Without pulling away, he murmured right into the heart of her, “Don’t you feel how much I want you?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“How much I want this?”

“Yes.”

“How I long to rip these pants off of you, just so I can examine how you tremor when I kiss you here,” and then she felt his fingers touching her, felt the material pressing against her, warm and damp, “and here.” He ran his fingers up the middle seam of her leggings, her breath stuttering when he stopped just at her clit, pressing his fingers there and rubbing slight circles against her. She moaned very, very softly, her hips starting a slow circle of their own, but then he pulled away and chuckled warmly.

“Sit up,” he said, startling her so much she popped her eyes open, not even realizing she’d closed them again. She was breathing too hard to comply, and anyway, she didn’t want to give him anything he wanted just then. Not if he was going to keep not taking her pants off.

“Swan,” he warned, shaking his head sadly at her. “Come, love. The fun’s yet to begin. Here.” He stood up and held his hands out, and the only reason she moved was because he had a very obvious erection tenting his jeans, so he was just as worked up as she was. Good. Keeping her eyes on it (God, she hoped that wasn’t just the way the seam of his zipper fell, because he seemed _huge_ ), she put her hands in his, letting him pull her to standing. Her body met his as she found her feet, somewhat unsteady from the tension still settled all around her; he let go of her hands and reached up to cup her face, tilting her head to the side and leaning down to capture her lips with his. She could detect faint traces of her own arousal on him, and it was hot, it really was. She parted her lips without any prodding from him, her hands creeping up his torso, the ripple of his muscles tensing pleasantly beneath her palms. She continued her perusal of him as he dropped his jaw, his tongue languorous against hers. When her hands reached his shoulders she swept them in, wrapping around his neck, her thumbs rubbing along the dip in his throat and across his Adam’s apple. She felt the vibration of his groan when she stepped into him more, leaning up onto her toes as she pressed against his impressive erection. 

He pulled his head back but she didn’t want to let go, pulling him back for more, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth and biting down gently, drawing her head back, releasing his lip and brushing his nose with hers. She pressed herself against him again, the rumble in his chest when he moaned incredibly gratifying.

“Now,” he whispered, almost to himself. He reached up to remove her hands from his neck and took a step back. Gently, he lowered her arms to her sides, his gaze going from her face to her chest. Next thing she knew he was kneeling before her, dragging his hands down her arms, grasping her hips briefly before shuffling under her shirt to clasp the waistband of her leggings. As he lowered them he gasped, looking up to fix her with a mischievous stare.

“Naughty, Swan. No knickers?”

“I didn’t see the point.”

“Indeed.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice when you were down there before.”

“I was preoccupied.” Her shirt had fallen down, covering up most of her, so he focused his attention before him, his face back where it ought to be. He leaned in, his nose tickling just below the hem of her shirt, laughing as he pressed a kiss just above the mound of flesh he’d better be kissing soon. He reached up and undid the bottom button on her shirt, then the next and the next, rising to standing as he moved up. Slowly.

Emma was done with the slow shit, so she started hastily unbuttoning from the top, making him laugh as he watched her impatient movements. When their fingers met on the button in the middle and he took both of her hands in his, he used their combined grasp to part her shirt. The laughter died on his lips as he stared just under the weight of her breasts where his ring was still hanging from its necklace, and maybe she was crazy, but it seemed like he carefully slipped a blank expression on his face just before speaking.

“No undergarments whatsoever, I see,” he said softly, tilting his head to the side but making no other movements or comments. 

Jones was a master of suspense, because just when she was about to grab his wrists and direct his hands to move or do it herself or jiggle her shoulders enticingly to get him to move he did exactly that, reaching out with one finger to touch her between her breasts, the soft pressure tickling and tingling as he traced up to her throat before going back down. When he got to the ring he dipped his finger in it, swaying it like a pendulum across her skin so that she felt the chain of the necklace taut against each breast in turn. He let go, continuing all the way to her navel, only touching where her shirt was parted. She nearly huffed with impatience when it occurred to her that he might be playing with her; she couldn’t tell by the steady concentration furrowing his brow, so she decided to rattle him a little. She reached out with her hand, splaying her fingers in the middle of his chest and doing a little casual touching of her own. That seemed to break him from the look of intense interest, his eyes darting to hers, his mouth curling into a smile.

“Always so impatient,” he murmured, pulling his hand away and allowing her to touch. She laughed softly, digging her nails into his skin and raking through his chest hair, earning herself a quiet gasp and feeling like a champion for it.

“I told you, Swan,” he said, recovering quickly. “I am quite good at making a woman feel wanted.” He stood up fully and she straightened her knees. Reaching out with both hands, he hooked his thumbs at her collar and gently, finally pried her shirt away, easing it down her arms with soft sweeps of his palms until she stood completely bare before him. 

“And do you want me?” she asked softly, aware her breathing was audible and not caring one bit.

“Have for a while now,” he murmured, his eyes trained on her breasts. She already knew that, but she told herself it was the moment, it was her birthday gift. He was just doing what she’d asked.

She closed her eyes and nodded, swallowing the sudden upswell of misgivings away because she could feel his hands on her, could feel him cupping her breasts and sweeping his thumbs over her nipples, the sensation sudden and jerking a tingle all the way down to her thighs. He continued playing with her, pinching and twisting, the sharpness making her start to writhe, her knees buckling on a particularly intense pinch. His words from earlier about making her come doing just that hit her, and she bit her lip, now knowing that he wasn’t lying.

He let go very suddenly. She opened her eyes to the sight of him leaning down to capture the tip of one breast with his mouth, his lips gentle and soothing--a mere kiss, a softness that fluttered a feeling all the way down to where she was clenching wildly. He repeated it on the other breast, his hair tickling her skin as he turned his head. She raised her hands and rested them at the back of his neck as he worked, becoming aware that his kiss had turned hard, his tongue flicking back and forth as he increased the pressure, sucking her flesh into his mouth with a sharp, lovely pain that made her cry out before he let go.

He turned to do it on the other side and she didn’t think she could take it; she knew she was getting wetter and wetter and he was starting to make these little gasping, moaning sounds, a man utterly delighted in what he was doing to her. She tried to pull him up to her, to do something, and he laughed, easing his sucking kiss and straightening up, stepping into her and lowering his face to the juncture between neck and shoulder. 

“Having fun yet?” he breathed before grazing his teeth against her skin, a light bite that made her roll her eyes shut. He sucked lightly before nuzzling up to her ear, his breathing heavy, the scratch of his chest hair against her breasts making her crazy. She opened her mouth to start getting mean or desperate with demands when she felt him move her. Before she knew it was she was lying on the bed again, this time with Jones covering her body with his own. He kissed her again, his lips wet against hers as he eased himself off and to the side. She felt him palm a breast and give it a quick squeeze before smoothing down, down her belly, down farther, his fingers teasing and soft.

Until they weren’t, his breathing hitching slightly against her mouth when he encountered wetness, and they groaned into each other’s mouths when he slid his fingers further. Emma was so keyed up she started twitching, little jerks of her hips every time he moved, each light rub followed with a sharp jerk from her as he shifted an angle or curled a finger. When he dipped inside of her all the way in she was shocked at how it felt, gasping with enough surprise to break their kiss and then she couldn’t stop gasping because he was moving his fingers in then out, in then out. Her hands scrambled to grab onto him, any part, her fingers gripping his upper arms as he thrust into her. He leaned his forehead against hers, his breath hot and heavy on her cheek as he raised her higher and higher, her hips lifting higher and higher to chase both the feeling and his touch.

Abruptly, he pulled out and before she could so much as protest angrily, he brought his hand up and grabbed at her breast, not at all gentle, smearing the fingers wet with her arousal all over the tip before latching onto it with his mouth. He sucked hungrily, these filthy noises of pleasure he was making washing over her as she looked down at him in disbelief. Jesus.

He looked up at her then, letting her flesh go with a wet, smacking pop, looking almost angry or hungry as he raked his eyes over her face. Without a word, he pulled away from her and slunk off the bed, his stare continuing as he made to stand between her legs. His mouth was slightly open, a sneer forming on his lip as he kicked off his shoes. She thought for a moment that he was going to take off his pants, but no; he simply knelt down, grabbed at her knees, yanked her forward until her thighs were hanging off the bed, lifted her bent knees up, then glanced down to where she was now very much open and exposed.

With a soft growl, he leaned down and licked her lightly once, twice, leaning his neck back each time to study her wetness before going back in, his tongue flat against her before his lips wrapped around her flesh. And he kissed her there, and he kissed her there, and he did not stop. 

Emma gasped and sob-gasped, every feeling she had in her entire body focused on the one spot and Killian, Killian and that one spot that she chased against his mouth, rolling her hips and rubbing herself against his tongue and lips and teeth and hell, his whole face. She couldn’t believe how good it felt, she couldn’t believe she’d waited so long, she couldn’t believe him as he continued to make her feel good, and then she started believing in everything because it was there, it was good, it was so good and it was Killian. A brief drop of disbelief, a moment of stillness and then she was cold fire and trembling legs and a burn in her thighs but she was there, he was there with her, light tremors and the beginning of another but not just yet, she knew he wasn’t done with her yet and she wasn’t even done yet. 

His tongue slowed to lingering licks and lips, Killian continuing to kiss her down, his mouth still on her but light now, soft, wet. His entire body was heaving as he pulled away, his eyes squeezing tight when she looked down to thank him without words. When she finally felt her muscles loosen into that languid drop he let go of her thighs, easing her legs down so that they hung off the bed. 

When he opened his eyes, he had this look. She knew what it meant. She wished she didn’t. 

“So,” she panted, trying to make it go away, because she was starting to feel herself reciprocate, “did you?”  


“Did I what?” he said gently, leaning down to brush his lips on her thigh before biting her lightly as an afterthought.  


“Come from the theoretical oral?”  


“Worried you won’t get the theoretical fuck of your life?”  


“Something like that.” No _way_ she was going to let him in on how hot it would be if he had.  


“I nearly did, twice. Had to, um. Pinch it both times. I wanted to be of use to you, after all.”   


 _God_.

“You are pretty useful,” she breathed, still coming down from the euphoria and breathlessness of her orgasm. She could imagine the picture they made like if she was a bystander, his face and mouth all on her while reaching down to hurt himself so he could fuck her properly, just like he’d said. It was too much. She gulped down a breath and closed her eyes, trying to shake the image away.  


He chuckled, kissing her thigh and her belly, his scruff tickling enough to make her jerk her legs.

“No tickling,” she whispered, unsurprised when her voice was rough, considering all the heavy breathing, and she was pretty sure she got a little loud somewhere in there. A second too late she realized she’d let him in on her little secret--how fucking ticklish she was--and she felt him tapping along the backs of her knees.

“Jones,” she warned, still breathless but laughing. He moved his fingers from her legs and instead brushed them up her ribs, making her jerk and laugh again.

“Can’t help it, love,” he said, his own voice raspy and dirty and, well. Hot. “I’ve been searching for the weak spots in your heavily fortified castle for years. Not my fault you willingly gave me a way to climb those walls of yours.”

“You like it,” she huffed, thinking that maybe she liked it, too.

“I do. I really do.”

“So, that’s one half of my theoretical gift.”

“Aye. I was thinking I’d give you the other half at a later date.”

“Very funny.”

“No, really. You shouldn’t be so greedy, Swan.”

“You shouldn’t be so--” _Good_ , she thought. _Fantastic_.

“Talented?”

“No.”

“I’m not talented?”

“You don’t suck.”

“Oh, but I did,” he said warmly and filthily, his voice dropping. He leaned up and slowly crept over her body, a threatening look on his face. “I sucked quite well, I thought.” Her mind jumped to what he’d done with his fingers, spreading her...wetness on her nipple and then sucking it away, and like that, she started feeling aroused again. God, he really _was_ good.

“I sucked here,” he said to one breast while tweaking the other, “and here,” he scratched along her collarbone. “Here,” he continued, a deep whisper near her neck as he swept his fingers across her lip before dipping in and brushing against her tongue, “and here.” He moved to rub his fingers between her legs and she felt the stirring become more insistent. 

“Yes.”

“Yes,” he agreed with a smile. He continued the pressure, his fingers barely moving, though occasionally dipping along the slick, wet curve of her flesh. Emma was amazed, she was pleased; she was ready for more, so she turned her head and reached over to brush her mouth against his. She could detect faint traces of herself all over and around his mouth and beard, the taste of his tongue reminding her of how he’d eaten at her, how’d he’d consumed her. She rubbed her lips on his, laughing when she jerked her hips as he swept his fingers inside and it tickled her sensitive flesh. 

He grinned while she laughingly kissed him, his mouth open and his tongue sweeping. He was so warm and comfortable and good that she wrapped her arms around him, drawing him on top of her, spreading her legs to accommodate him as he fit in between, like they’d done it a thousand times. He kissed her, wide and open, rutting against her lightly, thick and hot where she was waiting.

It got to be too much; Emma felt herself overwhelmed by him, by the knowledge she was about to fuck him, and she didn’t want to question it, never really had questioned it. When his hips shuddered as the tip of him dipped inside, Emma leaned up to nip his ear, whispering with a demand that he put his cock inside. 

He paused and she looked up to see his eyes squinted shut, a look of pain on his face as he asked, “Emma. Are you quite--”

“I’m sure,” she whispered in his ear. Then because she felt such a surge of fond pride at him because she knew if she asked, he’d stop, Emma placed a soft, gentle kiss below his ear.

He sat up and without asking, she knew what he wanted. She dove to the side for a condom she’d stuck on the nightstand, biting back a laugh at his impatience when he tore into the package. Like an expert he had the thing on and was back on top of her in no time, his face inches above hers, his cock resting against her, hot, hard, and eager.

Then she was nodding and he was nodding too, and he pulled back before pushing in slowly, then kept going. Didn’t stop. The full feeling making Emma’s breath catch and when she tensed up she told herself to take it, to let go, to let him in. She looked up to see him watching her; she got the fleeting impression that he’d been watching the entire time. She cupped the back of his neck and drew his mouth to hers, kissing him sweetly again while she simultaneously relaxed her inner muscles and thrust her hips forward.

Nothing tasted better than Killian’s gasp of surprise. She thought she could feel him smile against her lips and then he was pulling back, the hot slide delicious as he drew her lip into his mouth, his teeth nipping lightly as he thrust forward again, biting down hard and sucking her lip into his mouth. He released her and she gasped as he began to take her harder and faster and better. She closed her eyes, opening then when he whispered roughly, “Look at me, Emma,” before lifting his body until his arms were straight and he watched her as she felt the change in angle, the slightly deeper dip as he kept going, his cock hitting a new ridge that made her breath catch, his face and breathing increased with the strain as she strained to keep up, and stop, and move again, she couldn’t decide whether she liked the orgasm coming from her moving her hips in counter-rhythm to the furious fucking from him or if she liked the way it felt if she simply let go, braced herself against his relentless pounding. So she alternated; relax, fuck back against him, relax, take it, take it, take more, take him, and it came from both, she felt both angles losing the tingle, the tingle fading to bliss then she relaxed and that orgasm began but it was too light, it was nearly gone so she fucked against him again and again, squeezing her muscles and he groaned loud, squeeze and groan, he sounds so good like this, like he’s into it, like he’s fucking her and he’s saying her name and she’s there, the sharp thrust up and burn, and she’s gone and gone and grabbing onto his arms so she won’t slip away, he doesn’t let her slip away as she falls and he’s making desperate sounds and then he’s there, gasping, almost apologetic as he slows to a near-stop, still light, his hips slowing as she lowered herself, realizing she’d been tense with the effort of fucking against him, her legs complaining as she relaxed both knees against him, his entire body hard and panting.

He lowered his head to her chest, his breathing ragged and blowing warm streams of tingling sensation between her breasts. She laughed, bringing her palms to rest on his head. He moved until he was looking up at her, a slight smile on his face.

“That was…”

“A good birthday gift,” she finished, her fingers tracing his profile lightly. 

“My pleasure.”

“Yeah,” she laughed softly. “Mine, too.” He continued to look at her; she was struck by how perfectly normal it felt, having Killian there between her breasts, a sated and happy smile on his face (one she’d have to catalog later, when she could figure out what it was about it that made it different from all of the others--later, when she wasn’t feeling so fucking good from such good fucking).

His promise that she wouldn’t have enough condoms rang through her mind when he lifted away untold minutes later, flopping down next to her, his back long and smooth when she looked toward him. She kind of wished she could still see his face, kind of felt gratitude that he wasn’t looking at her anymore. It seemed...like too much. 

“I should go. Early morning, and all that.”  


_But..._

She didn’t let herself finish the objection in her mind. She wasn’t really sure why she was objecting, anyway. Instead, she nodded, unsure whether he heard her very small and soft “okay.”

After cleaning themselves up, Emma offered to let him stay, it being so late and him having worked so hard, and all, but Killian simply smiled, like he knew the moment had passed. He told her, “Happy birthday, Swan” before letting himself out.

Then she told herself that of course he wouldn’t want to stay, of course not. It wasn’t like that. He’d been right to refuse staying over. They weren’t fuck buddies, they were buddies who’d fucked. And it wouldn’t happen again. No matter how much she might want it to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! sorry about the lack of updating, something happened and i'm going to be fine. but uh i kinda fibbed and there will be four parts to this story. here's part three. enjoy, and thanks for the good feedback!

“Wow. New mascara?”  


“Hmm?” Emma looked up at Ruby, who was sitting across from her at their coffee shop. They sometimes met in the morning before Ruby’s shifts at the diner when Emma had a light schedule, so when Ruby had texted _post birthday latte?_ , Emma knew she couldn’t say no. Ruby would know something was up if Emma was refusing free coffee, or even coffee she had to pay for. So she texted back an _okay_ and now there she was, desperately hoping Ruby wouldn’t just know what she’d been up to last night with their friend Killian the manwhore.

Wishful thinking.

“I don’t know, your eyes look....big and sparkly. Since you usually only wear mascara, I figured you went out to treat yourself to some lash-defying goodness?”

“Oh, uh. No.” Emma took a hurried sip from her coffee and tried not to look so...satisfied. But dammit, her mind kept drifting to the night before. Flashes of Killian from different angles doing different things. Like having his head between her legs. Or that thing with his fingers all wet with her and smearing on her breast and...yeah.

“New blush?”

Oh God.

Emma shook her head, trying to dispel the image of Killian above her, his eyes boring into hers, looking for all the world like it meant something to him.

“Well, whatever it is, I want in on it.”

_You already had it once_ , Emma thought sourly, and then she started to laugh. Until she started to wonder.

Had it been the same for Ruby?

Had he done the same stuff, made her feel all wanted? Made her feel like maybe there was something more to it than two friends having good sex together?

Did _she_ feel like it was something more than two friends having good sex together?

“Emma?”

“Sorry,” Emma muttered, wanting to talk about it and also not wanting to talk about it. She faltered, her coffee paused beneath her lips, and just when she’d decided it was best to keep things to herself until she could process them better, Ruby’s eyes narrowed.

“You had sex last night.”

When Emma neither confirmed nor denied, Ruby pounced.

“Dude, you’re holding out on me. Birthday sex is the best! I thought you were staying in last night, what’s up? Did you go to a bar, get guys to buy you drinks and then take one of them home? Man, you should’ve told me, I totally would have joined--”

“It was Killian.”

Ruby’s mouth snapped shut, but her eyes went wide. Emma stared at her resolutely, knowing she would have found out eventually, anyway--might as well get it out there--and she braced for the rant. _He’s your best friend, Emma, that was dumb. You’re going to ruin the group dynamic. David is going to kill him and then you. I hope you used protection, you’re both dirty. What about Thanksgiving? Are we going to have to share custody when shit goes sideways?_

Basically, most of the thoughts Emma had been having herself since she woke up that morning. Alone.

But Ruby said none of that.

Instead, she sat back and whistled, low and impressed.

“Wow. Okay. So. How was it?”

“It was…” _Great. Fantastic. Confusing_. “Nice.”

“Nice?” Ruby laughed, incredulous. “Are you sure you did it right?”

“Ruby.”

“Because if memory serves, he’s amazing, and his technique has to have only improved over the years. I mean, I was drunk off my ass at the time, so--wait. Were you guys drunk? Was this a drunken hook-up with your best friend? Because that’s going to be straight-up awkward the next time--”

“We weren’t drunk.”

“Oh,” Ruby breathed. “Okay, then. Nice? Didn’t he do the thing?”

“What thing?”

“That whole switching up of the positions until you feel like you’re in a porno, but like, the good kind of porno, without all the fake grunting or the guy coming on your face thing? Gymnastics sex, the kind that you only tolerate when the guy is super good at it? Killian was a master,” Ruby breathed, looking off into the distance like she was reliving a fond memory. She even had a small smile on her face before she turned to meet Emma’s eye. “It’s his signature move--doing all of the moves. It’s damned impressive, actually. You know how I like snooping around for info from the girls he’s been with, as long as they don’t throw a drink at me for asking? Well, I compared notes, and that’s definitely his thing. I know you never really cared to hear the details, but I have no such objections. He likes to give a girl the smorgasbord of sexual positions. How’d you like the reverse cowgirl? I’m not a fan myself, but with him, it was almost natural, and--”

“He didn’t do any of that.” Emma frowned. “Actually, it was just standard guy on top.”

“Huh.”

Now that she thought about it, that _had_ been unexpected. Nice, though. Looking into his eyes. Like, he _really_ wanted to look into her eyes, she could remember that part with total clarity. It was...intimate. And kind of nice. There had been guys who’d been creepy about eye contact and guys who’d barely cared that she was there. But with Killian it had been...nice.

The whole thing. Nice.

“Nice, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Emma didn’t know why she felt so defensive all of a sudden, but she did. 

“Not mind-blowing?”

“Well, I mean--”

“He made you come, right?”

“Several times.”

“With his mouth?”

Emma got hot just thinking about it.

“Affirmative on the oral. God, I love oral.” Ruby gave her a sly look before looking down to study her own fingernails. Then she affected nonchalance as she said, “Maybe I’ll ask Killian for a repeat. It’s been awhile since I’ve been with anyone with a tongue that talented.”

Emma looked up angrily, about to--she didn’t know, warn her friend off, maybe, the objection hot on her lips, but she didn’t have to. Ruby was looking at her with triumph, and before she spoke, Emma realized she was in trouble.

“Ha! I knew it. God, finally!”

“Finally what?”

“Don’t play dumb. Jesus, I’ve been waiting for this for years!”

“Ruby. What the hell are you talking about?”

“You. Killian Jones. Totally a thing. I’m amazed it didn’t happen years ago; you’re just too fucking stubborn to see it. So, how did it happen? Did he come over to wish you a happy birthday and then bow-chicka-wow-wow? Are you guys like, doing it now?”

“Ugh,” Emma said with disgust, ignoring her friend’s delighted cackle. “This was a one-time thing, Ruby.”

“Right.”

“No, really.”

“So you _were_ drunk.”

“We were not drunk.”

“So he just invited himself into your apartment and then into your vagina?”

“No! I--we kind of...” Emma trailed off, waving her hand around vaguely. “It was a mutual decision.”

“You didn’t talk about it afterward, I take it. Or before.”

“Not really, no.”

“He didn’t try to talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Uh, the fact that you two have been eye fucking each other for years until, what. You both realize you’re thirty and then boom, you’re evaluating your life choices? The fact that you two are like, perfect for each other? The fact that you probably look really beautiful having sex together? Like, I’d pay to watch that shit, Emma. Wait, I’m getting off topic here. Point is, I can’t believe you two fucked and didn’t talk about it even a little bit. You sure you guys didn’t bring up any of the consequences of this?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Emma said, laughing uneasily, because no, it hadn’t been like that. In fact, it seemed like it should have been like that, now that her friend was bringing it up. But it wasn’t like that. Emma and Killian, they weren’t like that.

She tried to ignore the small voice inside of her wondering _why the hell not?_

“Hmm. Seems like you’ve got a decision to make.”

“No, we already decided this was going to happen just the once.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“He’s been into you for years.”

“Ruby,” Emma sighed, desperate to be anywhere but there.

“Emma,” Ruby retorted. Suddenly, she perked up. “What did he get you for your birthday? Or was boring-but-nice missionary sex the gift?”

Emma could feel Liam’s ring all warm between her breasts. Without realizing it, her hand had flown there, and Ruby’s eyes zeroed in on where she was fidgeting with her fingers.

“Lemme see it.”

“Ruby!”

“Is it a tattoo?”

“What?” Emma laughed. “No.”

“A rash?”

“Ruby.”

“Emma Swan. Unbutton your shirt.”

Sighing, Emma reached down the neck of her flannel and pulled out the necklace with the ring on the end, still hanging around her neck. She hadn’t taken it off, even in the shower. She didn’t even feel comfortable bringing it out now. 

Ruby leaned forward and grabbed the ring, pulling it toward her face until Emma felt the clasp yank out some of the hairs on the back of her neck.

“Ow?”

“I recognize this chain.” Ruby looked up and met Emma’s eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was flat, alarmingly so, like she was doing her best to cover up all reactions and emotions, which was very un-Ruby-like.

“This is his brother’s ring.”

“Yeah.”

“The brother, the one we never met. The one he still idolizes. The one who died. The one who when he died, Killian freaked out for months, turning into an anger ball filled with self-loathing and rum. The one who of all the stuff his brother left behind, this ring is probably the one thing Killian gives a damn about. That brother?”

“Yeah.” Emma gulped before sitting up. Ruby released the necklace and the ring fell back against her shirt, suddenly sitting very heavy between her breasts. Hastily, she tucked it out of sight, trying to ignore the judgey laser beams her friend was sending her way.

“Hiding the evidence won’t change the fact that he’s in love with you.”  


“Ruby--”  


“I always knew it deep down inside, but now, like. I _know_.”

“Ruby.”

“And what’s more--you know, too.”

_Yes._

_No._

“No.”

“Admitting your denial is the first step toward recovery, Emma.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You know what it means.”

“I don’t have time for this cryptic bullshit.”

“I know you don’t, you’ve already allowed years to pass by! Just think, if you’d have let this happen years ago, you could have been having perfectly nice missionary sex with him all this time! Man, Mary Margaret would never let me confront you about your feelings for him, and now I get to do this big old I-told-you-so, I can’t wait, she’s always the one who--”

“I don’t have feelings for him.”

Ruby fixed her with such a mystified and annoyed look that Emma would have laughed if it were at all fucking funny.

“Please. Do you remember when I slept with him, how you picked a fight with me the next day?”

“That was because you ruined my favorite skirt with that Boone’s Strawberry Hill wine you used to drink.”

“That was Tink,” Ruby scoffed, waving her hand to the side before pointing at Emma for emphasis. “You picked a fight and didn’t speak to me for a month, and even then, it was because you ran out of tampons.”

“That doesn’t mean--”

“And then when he fucked that girl who lived across the hall from us, you keyed her car.”

“That was an accident!”

“You filed a police report on the one girl who worked at--oh, what was it--”

“Blockbuster.”

“Right, the video store girl with the really big--”

“I saw her stealing someone’s credit card numbers!”

“Emma.” Ruby reached over the table and put her palms on Emma’s shoulders, looking her straight in the eye as she continued. “You’ve been in love with him forever. You hate every girl he fucks that isn’t you, except for me, because I am delightful. And I’ll tell you something else--he’s in love with you, too.”

“He is not,” Emma scoffed, well aware she was ignoring the first part of that statement. Because she wasn’t in love with him. She wasn’t.

“Emma. You examine bits of information to get your man for a living, so see if you can piece all of this together: ever notice how he doesn’t fuck blondes? He always goes for brunettes or the occasional redhead. Or really super hot brunettes with playful and cute red highlights.”

“You and I both know I am not his type.”

“He never brings his skanks around you.”

“You’re around all the time.”

“You callin’ me a skank, bitch?”

“Your word, not mine.”

“I’ve met some of them. Like, we all have. But not you. He doesn’t bring his girls around you.”

Emma had no response to that one.

“He is always there for you.”

“Well, he’s a reliable guy!”

“Ha! Please,” Ruby laughed, raising a sardonic eyebrow as she propped an elbow on the table. “You know, he was supposed to pick me up from work a few months ago but he bailed with an apology, and I only recently found out that he left me high and dry because you called him when you were bored and wanted to go see _Zootopia_ again?”

“What? That sucks, I’m sorry he did that--”

“Well, he sent this hottie Dorothy in his stead, I haven’t told you about her yet, and I will, but don’t change the subject.” Ruby smiled serenely before leaning forward to hit her point home. “The thing is, Killian has always dropped everything to be with you, no matter what. Remember when your car died before your calculus final? He never told you that he missed the deadline on turning in his Rhetoric paper because of it, did he?”

“He what?”

“Dropped his grade from an A minus to a C plus,” Ruby said with satisfaction. “Remember when he was talking about sailing the world, and you told him you’d miss him if he left, and when he told you he’d think about you every day he was gone, you were like, ‘not good enough’?”

“That was just like, idle talk.” Emma could remember it well; Killian had talked about it the better part of their last year in college, and she’d felt sick with the thought of him leaving the closer May had approached.

“Nuh uh,” Ruby said, shaking her head. “He was dead set on it because it was something he and Liam had talked about doing once he’d graduated, and he wanted to honor that memory, or whatever. So he saved up enough money to buy a boat, had one picked out and everything. Then you come along, telling him he can’t leave you here and that he should go to law school because he’s so good at arguing with you that he’d probably make a great lawyer, then he used his money for law school instead and stayed right here. To be near you. Because you asked him to.”

“I think you’re exaggerating my influence over him.”

“He _really_ wanted that boat.”

“He really _wanted_ to go to law school!”

“Emma. He gave up his _boat_ for you.”

She had nothing to say to that. She really wished Ruby would stop. She was getting a headache.

But her friend wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot. She leaned in for the kill.

“Now, you’ve had sex. Nice sex. Not filthy, dirty, animal sex.” 

Well. It had been all of those things, but Emma wasn’t about to tell Ruby that.

“And he gave you the one thing in the world that means shit to him.” She pointed at Emma’s chest. Maybe she was crazy, but it seemed like Ruby was pointing at more the left side, where her heart was, than the ring that was hanging there.

“Piece all of those clues together. That pretty boy is in love with you, Emma Swan. And I think you’re in love with him, too, otherwise you wouldn’t be getting this defensive. You might wanna figure that out before you see him again. Just remember: he may be a manwhore, but he has feelings. If you’re gonna break his heart, go easy on him. Be nice. Not like, sex with him nice, just. You know. Nice.”

With that, Ruby got up, leaving Emma even more confused than before, and more irritated than ever.

* * *

A week later, and Emma still hadn’t spoken to Killian. That wasn’t unusual; they often went for long stretches with nothing more than a quick “hey, still alive?” text exchange or a goofy selfie from him, but this was definitely different. Her phone remained free of any communication from or to him. Emma simply didn’t know what to say. “Thanks for the sex” didn’t seem right, but neither did, “So, are you in love with me?”

She wondered what she’d say if he sent her that exact same question.

_Of course not_ , her mind answered. 

But there was an unacknowledged thrumming inside that insisted _maybe_.

She just didn’t know what to do. 

So she did nothing.

Part of her reasoning for her inaction was that Killian didn’t do anything, either. So she started to tell herself that Ruby was crazy, that it was exactly what Emma had told her: they were just two good friends who happened to have had good sex exactly once. In fact, she was getting pretty comfortable with that idea, actually having an entire day at work where she wasn’t completely distracted thinking about how nice (she needed a new adjective) sleeping with him had been. How she might not mind a repeat. How she spent an evening asking herself how to best bring up asking him if he’d be up for another round without sounding desperate or in love or anything except what she knew she was: a girl who appreciated a good time. 

She’d gotten herself so well convinced that it would be a perfectly normal and acceptable conversation to have with him that it was almost like they’d already talked about it, until she smiled sadly because he wasn’t actually there with her. He wasn’t helping her untangle her confusion or teasing her about being interested in having sex with him again or thinking he was a sex god or something equally stupid that he would definitely say.

Thinking about what Killian would say and actually talking to him were two completely different things, and even though she didn’t think she was in love with him, she still missed him. That didn’t mean love, right?

So, after a week of Ruby’s words ringing around in her head and imagined conversations with Killian and one time, a stray (and not entirely unwelcome) fantasy of kissing him again, Emma finally decided she’d call him. Tomorrow. She’d call him tomorrow, and she could worry about what she was going to say when she woke up.

But then, the unthinkable.

When her phone rang at two in the morning, she didn’t answer it. She had a notification set for when one of her active jobs showed activity on their credit cards, so sometimes she was awakened at odd hours. But this was her ringtone, and she nearly ignored it, wanting to cry because she’d only barely fallen asleep after obsessing over whether or not she had feelings for Killian Jones.

She let the phone ring and heard a buzz a minute later indicating a voicemail, so with a groan, she turned over and slapped her hand on her phone, pushing the home button and blinking at the sharp point of brightness in the dark.

It was David. He never called this late.

“Emma,” his voicemail began, and she sat up instantly at the absolute urgency in his voice. “Something’s happened. Get down to St. Henry’s right away, fourth floor. He’s in surgery, and the doctors say he’s gonna be okay, but you should be here.” Emma could feel her heart pounding, heard a whispered hiss in the background that must have been Mary Margaret. “It’s Killian, Emma. Get down here. Now.”

She didn’t know how she got there without getting pulled over, she drove so fast, didn’t even recall getting dressed, but Emma made it to the hospital in no time, practically throwing her keys at the valet and ignoring his yelling that she wasn’t allowed to use the valet unless she was a patient. She slapped the elevator button, nearly screaming in frustration when it stopped on every floor on its way down until finally the lobby door dinged and she sprinted in, punching the fourth floor button repeatedly and standing rigid until it slid to a stop.

“Killian Jones?” she breathed at the nurse, her heart pounding in her chest. 

“Emma!” came Mary Margaret’s voice from behind her. She felt arms wrapping around her waist and then David was there, putting his arm around her shoulders and leaning against her. 

“He’s still in surgery,” the nurse told her. 

“Come on,” David said, pulling on her arm, but she wouldn’t budge.

“Is it serious?” she asked the nurse. The woman looked at her with sympathy, reaching out to pat her hand, but Emma drew away, not wanting the comfort. 

“The doctors will come out with updates as soon as they’re able, honey. You might want to sit down, these things can take a while. I can bring you coffee, if you need it. He’s a young man, healthy and strong. A collapsed lung sounds scary, but Dr. Whale is very good at what he does.”

Stunned, Emma finally allowed David to draw her away, needing the support and allowing him to lead her.

Collapsed lung?

“What the fuck happened?” she whispered as she let David gently lead her over to the waiting area. She listened with impatience, growing increasingly numb as Mary Margaret haltingly explained that Killian had been in a car accident.

“An accident.”

“Yeah, he was hit on his way home from our place tonight.” Mary Margaret’s eyes looked glassy with pain that she tried to smile away; Emma instantly knew that her friend was blaming herself for the accident, that she’d eventually say something like, “If he hadn’t been at our house in the first place, he never would have been driving.” David reached over to rub her back and she smiled at him briefly before continuing. “He broke a rib and fractured a few others, and they were afraid it had punctured something, but it missed his heart, which is lucky.”

“He doesn’t have a heart,” Emma mumbled automatically, the sharp betrayal of her words stinging the back of her throat. David and Mary Margaret chuckled dryly, and Emma was glad neither chastised her for her unkindness. Killian had a heart. He had the biggest one of all of them. Emma was the heartless one.

David squeezed her arm and Mary Margaret pulled at her hand until she sat down next to her, offering nothing more than a smile and her steady presence in what Emma knew was going to be the longest night of her life.

Sitting in a hospital waiting for updates becomes a timeless occupation, the unnatural lighting and somber people also waiting for news adding to an already tense and dire mood. Emma refused offers of coffee and vending machine snacks, curling up across two plastic chairs and staring at the noiseless TV hanging from a wall, trying hard not to think about Killian and his collapsed lung. Her mind drifted toward the other Killian-related topic she’d been obsessing over, but she shut that down immediately. Like thinking about it was tempting fate, or something. She closed her eyes and sighed, sending some angry thoughts his way. _Don’t you dare die on me, Jones. We’ve got things to discuss._

About twenty minutes in, Ruby arrived, devoid of makeup and looking panicked and sick as she flew over to where Emma, David, and Mary Margaret were sitting.

“What the fuck, is the manwhore okay?”

“We don’t know,” David said, his elbows braced on his knees, his words directed at the scuffed tile floor. “He’s still in surgery.”

Some time later, there was a ruckus as a regal and haughty voice demanded to speak to the charge nurse, the nursing director, the chief of surgery, and the entire board of directors. Emma chuckled without humor as she looked up to see Rob practically dragging Regina off the counter where she was directing her authoritative eyebrow and (to Emma) welcomed bitchiness at a wary-looking desk nurse.

“Love, remember: catch flies with honey, not vinegar.”

“I’ll use honey once everyone here understands I am not to be trifled with,” Regina said, her voice like ice. It actually warmed Emma’s heart to see Killian’s sister like this, fighting for the things she loved. Especially since Emma herself seemed completely incapable of it, nearly frozen with incapacitation at the thought of Killian lying somewhere on a surgical table with doctors slicing into his body. His perfect body. The body she’d experienced in its glory just last week.

_Not the time to be thinking about that, Emma._

When Rob finally managed to calm Regina down enough to bring her over to where everyone else was gathered, Emma sat up to make room for the new arrivals. Regina sat down directly next to her, her back ramrod straight, like she couldn’t bear to touch the dirty hospital chairs, which was probably true. She set her purse on her lap primly and folded her hands to rest on it before taking a deep breath. Without looking over at Emma, she spoke in a low murmur.

“How are you doing with all of this?”

“About the same as you. Without the yelling.”

“More cursing, I’d imagine.”

“Surprisingly, no.”

“That is a surprise.” They sat in tense silence--the silence of two people desperately worried and not knowing what to do with it. Killian, David, and Rob were the emotional ones in their group, the ones who always wanted to talk about feelings. Mary Margaret and Ruby were the ones ruthlessly herding everyone’s emotional potential; Regina and Emma were the ones who generally told everyone to shut the fuck up about all of it.

“He’s going to be fine,” Regina said, quiet and firm. The assuredness in her voice was belied by a tremor, and Emma felt a choking tingle in her throat. Nothing scared Regina, nothing. 

“You can’t know that, stuff goes wrong all the time.” Emma closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her head, a jumble of confusion, despair, and heart-sick threatening to make her dizzy. _He’s going to be fine_ , she insisted to herself, repeating Regina’s words to force them to come true. _He can’t be anything but fine._ The hurt in her heart must have made her say what she said next, must have made her temporarily drop her defenses--those walls of hers Killian had joked about scaling when they had...been together. “What if he...I never even told him…”

Regina looked at her with a brief flash of sympathy before she frowned it away.

“Don’t worry. That idiot is too much of a stubborn ass to do anything but survive. He’s very good at it.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say about him,” Emma said dryly, feeling grateful to Regina for stopping her emotional outburst before it could really begin. Regina turned slightly to face her but for some reason wouldn’t meet her eye.

“He confides in me, you know.”

Emma didn’t know what that meant or what had caused the abrupt change of subject, other than Regina being Regina. Then again, when their brother Liam had died, Emma could remember how awful it had been for Regina, too, chastising herself for not having been nicer to him, and how Killian having to comfort her was what had snapped him out of his own morose rage. They were a lot closer after that, despite their eight-year age difference. It suddenly hit Emma, how hard this must be for Regina, so she turned to face her friend, deciding she’d be there for her, too.

Emma looked at her expectantly, surprised when she saw censure in the woman’s eyes. What the hell had she done to deserve that?

Then she took in Regina’s words from a moment ago, and she suddenly knew. Killian had told his sister what had happened between them.

Regina’s mouth opened and shut several times, which in and of itself was amazing, because Regina wasn’t exactly one to hold back her thoughts. She seemed to search for something to say before giving up, chuckling wryly and loosening her frame just a bit.

“Emma,” she began, her voice still low so the others wouldn’t hear. “I know Killian is a moron, but he’s a good person. You recognize that, right?”

Emma nodded, not saying anything because she felt this teasing sensation in the back of her throat at the gentle tone in Regina’s voice. 

“He--I know he’s going to be okay. You know how I know? Because he isn’t finished. He’s not done. He’s got too much to do, too much to say. He hasn’t said all that needs to be said just yet. So for that, he’ll fight to survive, to live.” 

It was like everything Regina was saying Emma already knew, but until she’d heard the words she hadn’t known that she knew. It was a revelation, in a way, even if deep down inside, she knew it all along already.

“He lives for you. You have know that. And if you didn’t, well. Now you do. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, and it’s okay if the other night was just...getting something out of the way to be done with it. But Emma Swan, hear this now: if you don’t love my brother, you let him go so he can move on. I won’t have you holding him back. If you don’t know how you feel, figure it out. If you do love him, well. What the hell are you waiting for? He’d wait forever for you. He already has been. Don’t make him keep doing that.”

With that, Regina stood and walked over to Rob, who handed her a cup of coffee with a soft smile.

Emma sat there, slightly stunned and fully reeling, the only thought in her head to wonder for the thousandth time how someone as easy-going and down-to-earth as Robin Locksley could put up with someone as rigid and fierce as Regina Mills. Then she saw the way Regina smiled in response, her entire body softening for him and only him, and Emma told herself that when love is true, that’s probably what it looked like.

She wondered what others saw when she and Killian smiled at each other.

Hours later, Emma was startled from half-sleep, swiping at her mouth and realizing she’d been dozing on Mary Margaret’s lap. She looked up to see a doctor in blue scrubs with one of those caps tied on his head. She sat up abruptly, rubbing at her eyes and trying to keep from tensing up too much.

_Killian_.

“The surgery went very well, no complications. He’s going to be just fine,” the doctor began, and Emma didn’t even hear the rest of it because she was too busy soaring inside. She caught a few medical terms but didn’t care, because _he was going to be just fine_.

Rob wrapped a very relieved-looking Regina in his arms while grinning over at Emma. Ruby came over to pat her leg while Mary Margaret put her arm around her waist and her head on her shoulder. Emma closed her eyes, suddenly so glad for all of these people that she had found, and glad Killian had found them all, too. 

The doctor told them that while the surgery went as expected, Killian needed several days until they could remove his breathing tube, and that he was going to be in recovery for a couple of hours so they could monitor him as his body adjusted to coming out of anesthesia. He’d be moved to the sub-ICU as soon as a bed was available, and then visitors would be restricted to family only.

“Everyone here is his family,” Regina informed the doctor, her lifted eyebrow daring him to contradict her. He nodded politely, leaving them to go do whatever it was surgeons did when they weren’t fixing the people that Emma needed to be fixed.

Hours later, and they were finally allowed to go to the sixth floor where Killian was being moved. A nurse came over to tell them that she would let them in two at a time, that he needed rest, and he wouldn’t be awake yet, anyway. Rob took the arm of a tense Regina as they followed the nurse down the hall, leaving Emma, David, and Mary Margaret alone. Ruby had gone home because she had to open the diner, extracting a promise that they’d give full reports on Killian’s progress when any information was available.

“I’ll be back in an hour or so,” Regina told Emma a half hour later after she’d seen him, smiling softly before fixing her with a stern look. “I assume I’ll still find you here?”

Emma nodded without speaking, not knowing what sounds she might make if she opened her mouth.

When David and Mary Margaret came back from seeing him some time later, Emma was nearly hypnotized by lack of sleep and worry and the tension buzzing in her body. She’d waited in this kind of stupor, aware she ought to be impatient but also kind of dreading seeing him.

What if something happened, some complication? That happened sometimes, didn’t it? 

What if he had like, amnesia? What if he woke up mad because she hadn’t called after sleeping with him?

Emma shook her head when David offered to accompany her; he was trying to be comforting when he hugged her fiercely but somehow came up short. “Call us if anything changes,” Mary Margaret told her, and then the nurse was smiling and telling Emma to follow her.

“He won’t wake for a while yet,” the nurse said as they approached his room. “One of his ribs was fractured in the accident, and the sharp edge poked a little hole in his pleura--the fluid sac around his lung. Some blood got in there, so the doctor had to evacuate it. All that fluid creates this pressure that helps your lungs inflate and deflate, so that’s what made his lung kind of collapse, that loss of pressure. It sounds terrible, I know, but it really isn’t so bad. The docs had to file down his rib and stick a wire in to hold it back together, so he’ll have some pain there for weeks while he heals. The good thing is he seems like a healthy young man, so he should be just fine, barring any complications. Right now he needs a machine to help him breathe and keep that lung pressure steady, and there is a tube coming out of his chest, draining any extra fluid that may accumulate. It’s loud and bubbly and sounds scary, but it’s doing an important job--keeping him from drowning in his own blood. The good thing is there isn’t an excessive amount of drainage--that bodes well for a swift recovery.”

They rounded a corner and approached Killian’s room--616--and Emma took a deep breath. The nurse continued saying the explanation Emma knew she’d forget the moment she saw him lying in that bed, especially since the kind woman was making it very clear that _he was going to be just fine_. “Now, your young man here is hooked up to a bunch of beeping machines, including a heart monitor. He also has a tube down his throat and a machine to help him breathe for now. Eventually, he’ll start breathing on his own, and then we can ease up on the sedation so he can wake up. I want you to know that while it seems intimidating and scary, there’s no need to be scared. He isn’t in pain. He’s sleeping, but he’ll know you’re there. I understand you’re the person he’ll want here when he starts to wake up, which should be some time in the next few days?”

Emma nodded, not really sure that part was true, but the nurse seemed so nice and expectant that she could do nothing but agree.

“Don’t worry about your young man, Miss Swan. Let me do that for you.”

“It’s Emma. And he’s not my young man,” Emma mumbled. She could hear bubbling and beeping, could see the foot of the bed through the doorway. Suddenly, she didn’t want to go inside anymore.

“Oh,” the nurse said, seeming embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Ms. Mills said you were--it’s just that he asked for ‘Emma’ before he went under.”

Emma didn’t know how to take that. She felt her heart pound furiously for a second before dread settled in again. She shook her head, trying to make it go away, but the nurse misread that and reached out to pat her shoulder in sympathy.

“My name’s Aurora, if you need anything. I’ll see if I can find you some extra pillows. This is one of the nicer rooms, has a pull-out bed for you to sleep on. If you have any questions, just come find me at the nurse’s station. Now, let’s go see him.” With that, Aurora turned and went into the room, and Emma could do nothing but follow.

And stop.

_Oh, Killian._

He had scratches on his face, that was the first thing she noticed. Idly, she wondered if he’d get some new scars because of them. He looked pale, so pale, and Nurse Aurora had been right--it _was_ scary. The consistent, unnatural rise and fall of his chest, the tubes and IVs and beeping and bubbling. How was she going to sleep with all of the noise?

How was she going to sleep, when he wasn’t awake, wasn’t breathing on his own?

“I’ll bet he’s handsome, huh?”

“Very,” Emma whispered, still frozen at the door.

“You can come closer, you know.”

_Hell no._

“Come on, hold his hand. You won’t break him.”

_Wanna bet?_

Aurora looked so expectant and patient that Emma felt sorry for her, this woman who had no idea what Emma was like. So, she sucked it up and approached the bed, for the nurse’s sake. When she got to his side she almost fell apart; it was so much worse up close. He seemed slight, fragile. This guy who was larger than life, who swaggered into rooms and filled them with his laughing, flirting presence. This guy who was vital to her, now passed out with a fucking hole in his chest.

_At least it wasn’t in his heart_ , her mind whispered, and she felt a sharp stab of relief rush through her. If anything’s going to pierce his heart, it would be her.

And that’s when she knew.

“I...need to go.”

Aurora looked confused. “You’re not staying?”

“I’ll be back later. I should...shower. Call in at work.”

“Okay,” Aurora said, tilting her head in sympathy. “I understand. Leave your number at the nurse’s station, we can call you if there’s any change. Take your time. I know how hard this is.”

“It’s not that, it’s--”

“Emma.” Aurora smiled softly, reaching across Killian’s steadily breathing form to touch Emma’s hand. “You didn’t see it, but his brow moved when you started talking just then. I’ve been doing this a while now, and I know what that means. Even unconscious, his body recognized you.  He cares for you. And the way you’re worried and don’t want to be here means you care, too. You don’t have to say anything, and I’m sorry if that sounded presumptuous of me, but I know what I’m talking about. Go on. Take your time. He’ll be right here when you’re ready.” Aurora smiled once again and then went about checking Killian’s monitors. Emma was both incensed and relieved at her dismissal; not needing to be told twice (and not wanting yet another person telling her how she felt when she already knew, at least now), Emma went back down to the lobby, waiting with impatience for Regina to show up again because she knew Regina would never forgive Emma if she left Killian all alone. She made up some excuse about showering before rushing home, pretending to sleep, and trying not to look at the clock that was judging her for every minute she didn’t spent sitting at his side, waiting for him to wake up.

* * *

She was back by noon.

Turned out, once Emma Swan comes to a realization, she was impatient to share it with the involved party.

_I’m totally in love with him_ , she thought, scrubbing her hair vigorously when she couldn’t fall asleep and had decided to actually shower instead.

_That’s why I keyed that chick’s car!_ she realized, chuckling as she poured coffee grounds directly from the bag into a filter. 

_What if this is why he’s never really dated?_ she wondered as she locked the door to her apartment, a change of clothes and some books and word puzzles stuffed into a duffel bag--all of the things she’d need if she was going to be staying at his side until he woke up so she could ask him something.

_Are you in love with me?_ she directed toward the hospital as she drove there, unhurried but in an absolute rush to be there and silently yell at him to wake up and be better.

_Or are you scared to acknowledge it, like I was until a few hours ago?_ she asked silently as she rode the elevator back to the sixth floor.

“You can’t just go in there--”

“I’m here for Killian Jones,” Emma said clearly. The night shift was gone, the new day shift eyeing her warily and looking ready to object. “I’m his...I’m Emma Swan.”

“His sister Ms. Mills has insisted that we limit his visitors, that none of his ‘fan club’ be allowed, so I’m afraid--”

“Not her,” Regina snapped, appearing around the corner with her stern expression in place. “She’s his girlfriend, she’s allowed.” Regina met Emma’s eyes and did not flinch, practically daring her to object. 

“I gave you a list of names, I expect you to abide by them,” she continued to the suddenly terrified nurse. Her eyes were still on Emma as she smirked slightly. Emma looked back with defiance, raising an eyebrow in imitation of Regina’s usual face, and the woman looked slightly taken aback before a look of pride entered her eyes. She nodded at Emma, a smile curling her lip, and she swept her arm out in the direction of room 616.

This time, when Emma entered Killian’s room, she looked at him head-on. It wasn’t as bad in the light of day, or maybe it was the acknowledgement sitting new in her chest that made her look at him with brand new eyes. He was beat-up and resting in a hospital, but he didn’t actually seem to be in distress. He was going to be okay. 

And he was going to listen to what she had to say, even if it wasn’t something he was ready to hear. 

* * *

“Rummy!”

“Sonuvabitch,” Ruby snarled, tossing her cards in disgust. Emma laughed with delight, wiggling her butt around on the pull-out bed and pointing with both index fingers at Killian’s still-sleeping form. 

“Do it. ‘Fess up.”

“Fine.” Ruby sighed dramatically, turning her body to face Killian. “You make the best grilled cheese sandwiches I’ve ever had. Even Granny loved them, though she never got the chance to tell you that. There, happy?”

“Extremely.” Emma smiled, though she felt her eyes watering. She looked over at Killian, silently asking him for the thousandth time in three days when he was going to wake up.

After removing the chest tube that morning, the doctors and nurses had assured her every time she demanded a timeframe that it was expected for him to still be sleeping, but still. She wanted him to wake up. She wanted to look at his blue eyes, see them smiling at her. She wanted to brush the hair off his head and maybe kiss him next to his ear, just so she could feel his beard scratch her face when he smiled. 

She wanted to tell him so many things. But she couldn’t do that when he was still out.

“I’ve gotta go, hun. It’s late.” Ruby unfolded her legs and stood from the bed, bending down to start clearing away their card game.

“I’ve got it, Ruby,” Emma said softly. She wanted to clean the cards up, anyway--give herself something to do. Nighttime was terrible when it was just her. And Killian. And the staff. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m taking the morning off. David and Mary Margaret are picking me up so we can come back here and yell at him to wake up some more. Regina gonna be here?”

“She should,” Emma laughed. “I told her to bring a fruit basket and some good coffee to the nurses to make up for being such a bitch. She told me where I could put my fruit basket.”

“So she’s doing just fine,” Ruby said wryly, shrugging into her jacket.

“Business as usual,” Emma agreed.

“And you?”

“I’m...Ruby, I’m fine. I’m not the one lying in a hospital bed with machines keeping me alive.”

“Eh,” Ruby said, coming over to hug her and kiss her on the cheek. “We both know what’s keeping him alive, and it ain’t no machine.”

Emma smiled when Ruby pulled back, neither acknowledging nor denying her words. 

They hadn’t talked about it since that day at the coffee shop. Emma still didn’t know what she was going to say to Killian if (when, when) he woke up, but she sure as shit knew she wasn’t going to say it to Ruby first.

Aurora came in shortly after Ruby left, smiling at Emma and asking whether she needed anything. Emma shook her head, gathering her pajamas and toothbrush and locking herself in the bathroom. It would only be the third night she’d spent at the hospital, but she already felt like she had a routine down. In the morning, she’d go home to shower after the first visitor arrived--they’d all agreed that Killian wouldn’t be left alone, that someone should always be there. The nurses seemed okay with that, going out of their way to make sure everyone was comfortable and that all of their questions were answered.

The first evening, Mary Margaret had offered to stay with him so Emma could go and get some sleep or run errands or just not be there for a while, but Emma had so violently insisted that she wasn’t going fucking _anywhere_ that the subject was never broached again.

The way Mary Margaret had looked at her with sympathy and complete understanding made Emma see that Mary Margaret knew, too. How Emma felt.

In fact, now that she thought about it, everyone knew. Well, not David. 

Or Killian.

She sighed heavily, looking at her reflection in the dim light of the bathroom. She changed into her flannel pajamas and went back out, settling onto her bed and watching Aurora check the monitors and check his bandages and change the IV bag. She smiled once more at Emma before leaving, shutting the door behind her.

Then it was just Emma, and it was just Killian.

“Hey,” she called out softly. “Did I ever tell you about my friend Lily?” _No, Swan_ , she could hear him saying in her head. _You did not. Was she hot?_

“We were twelve,” she said, rolling her eyes as if he’d actually said it. She went on to tell him about how Lily was the first real friend she’d had, then of course it had turned out she was a big, fat liar. How years later, she realized that that one relationship had probably formed all of her future relationships, and why it was so hard for her to let people in.

She didn’t know why she was doing it, talking to him out loud. Maybe because it was too hard to sit there in silence and watch him be not awake.

Then, just like the two nights before, she found herself getting up from the bed and dragging a chair to his side. Aurora and some of the other nurses who’d been around had insisted that she wasn’t going to hurt him, but she was still wary, still so unsure that was true. Aurora had huffed and grabbed her hand, putting it in his and then backing away slowly.

“There, see? He’s good, you’re good. Just keep doing that, it’s fine.”

Only it wasn’t fine. He didn’t squeeze back when she tightened her fingers. His hand felt wrong. It had taken her a good hour to realize that he wasn’t wearing his rings, and that had made some tears escape down her cheeks--both because it was a reminder that he wasn’t exactly himself right now, and because she hadn’t noticed at first. If she really loved him, wouldn’t she have noticed?

She was surprised when she was startled awake hours later, Aurora slipping a blanket around her shoulders. She’d gone back to bed then, but somehow, she felt better, knowing that this time, when she woke up, she wouldn’t be alone. Even if he wasn’t next to her in the bed.

When she had the chair exactly where she wanted it, she grabbed a blanket off the bed and settled in next to him. The bed rail next to his head was down, so Emma leaned over, just so she could be closer. She was used to the rise and fall of his chest by now, the machine steady and almost comforting as it breathed for him. She watched his chest for a few minutes, feeling her eyes drooping a little. She reached down and wrapped his hand in hers again, and when her head started to feel heavy, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to lay it next to him on the pillow, her own chest rising and falling in tandem with his.

* * *

Emma woke to a terrible sound.

“What--?” she mumbled, sitting up and immediately regretting it. Her back was aching, and there was a crick in her neck. She realized she’d fallen asleep, and by the light peeking through the blinds at the window, she’d slept through the night at his side.

“Killian,” she breathed, her entire body going numb with panic.

He was moving. His eyelids were fluttering.

And he was _choking_.

“Oh God,” she murmured. “Help. Help! Someone!” She dove for the remote call button thing on the bed, punching the bright red cross. “God, where is everyone? Hello?” She stood to go running to the nurse’s station, but then there was a staticky sound and a voice filled the room.

“Can I help you?”

“Get in here, he’s choking! Oh God, is he dying?” Emma was filled with panic, her neck pain forgotten as she reached out helplessly. Killian was struggling in the bed, the coughing terrible to her ears.

Within moments, nurses were rushing in; their efficiency would have been almost soothing if Emma wasn’t so filled with dread. She stepped back, her hands clasped tight to her chest as she watched them work. 

“Please save him,” she whispered to no one, her mind blanking. He couldn’t die. Not after everything. 

Not before she told him.

“Emma.”

She saw Aurora come over, shake her shoulder, but it wasn’t until the woman spoke again that Emma snapped out of her stupor.

“Emma, it’s a _good_ thing. Emma! Emma, the coughing means he’s trying to breathe on his own. Emma, he’s awake. Look.”

Emma looked.

And blue eyes met hers. 

“Killian,” she breathed.

Then his eyes crinkled in pain, and her view of him was blocked by a nurse in maroon scrubs.

Emma stepped back, shocked, trying to get out of the way. She watched with amazement as a doctor rushed in, and before she knew it, the tube was out and someone was calling for ice and there was more coughing but then the bodies cleared from the side of the bed and there was Killian, looking over at her and smiling.

“Swan?”

His voice sounded hoarse, scratchy from disuse, but God. It was him. It was really him. Awake and okay.

_I am in love with you._

“Get over there,” Aurora whispered furiously, yanking on her arm and shoving her toward the bed when she didn’t move. Emma allowed herself to be shoved, stopping just short of climbing up on the bed with him. She might have done just that, covered his body with her body, if it weren’t for all the tubes and wires.

“Hey there, sailor,” she said stupidly, suddenly unable to keep this giant grin off her face. “Good to see you awake.” God, it was so stupid how stupidly happy she felt. He was awake!

“How--” He had to clear his throat to continue. A nurse reached for the cup of ice chips that had suddenly appeared in that mysterious and wonderful way nurses have, and she scooped some ice onto a spoon and offered it to him. Emma watched with happy fascination as his too-red lips wrapped around the ice, his throat bobbing and his eyes closing with relief. He opened them, fixing her with an intense stare as he tried to speak again. “How long was I out?”

“A couple of days,” she said softly, hating the shock in his eyes at her words. _A couple of fucking terrible days_ , she added silently.

“What happened?”

“You were in an accident, dummy,” she said lightly. She seemed unable to keep from grinning, and it made him grin, too.

“Hardly seems right to insult a man lying prostrate in a hospital bed with tubes sticking out of him.”

“Hey, you had me worried, I will insult you if I want,” she retorted, still smiling. He smiled back; they just kept smiling at each other, and a thousand words seemed to fight to spill out of her mouth, but none of them won. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t really care because _he was awake_.

After some mutual grinning and staring, Killian’s eyes flitted down her form and a crease formed on his brow. He reached out, his fingers brushing the hem of her pajama top. “You slept here?”

“She’s barely left your side for three days, Killian,” Aurora called out from the foot of the bed where she was jotting things on a chart. _Thanks, Aurora._

He looked up at Emma, his eyes full of wonder. “Really.”

“Yeah,” Emma said, his reaction making her feel self-conscious. She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Does that surprise you?”

“A little,” he admitted. That made Emma’s heart drop down to her stomach.

“Well, it’s your turn to buy lunch. I had to make sure you were going to make good on that.”

“Swan--”

“Boy, is Regina going to yell at you. You made her emote, and you know how she doesn’t like that. She did get to terrify everyone on staff, though, so she might forgive you because of that, but I mean, it’s not like--”

“Swan.” His voice was insistent, though still hoarse, and Emma wasn’t sure why it brought tears to her eyes, but it did. His brow drew down as he reached for her hand, his grip weak as he pulled on her arm a little bit. He looked like he was about to say something genuine, and she didn’t think she could take that just then. She was too overcome, too filled with feeling to hear whatever he had to say, so she shook her head and closed her eyes, furious that there were tears coming.

“Hey. Sorry I frightened you like that.”

“I wasn’t scared,” she whispered.

“You babble when you’re scared.”

“Do not.”

“You have to know I wouldn’t die. Too stubborn, as you keep telling me.”

She chuckled unwillingly, opening her eyes when she felt the tears recede. Stupid idiot, he always was good at making her feel better. As she met his deep blue gaze, she felt like she was falling, but in a good way--this swoopy feeling she always had when he was around only more of it, stronger, more intense, more acute. Sharper. 

She knew what that was now. She felt a rush of it, this sweet, scary sensation in her gut, rushing up and ready to charge out her mouth. She didn’t know that she was ready, but hell. He was awake, and he was alive.

“I wanna tell you something.”

His eyebrows raised and that cocky, self-assured grin of his made an appearance. Her eyes narrowed, but at the same time, she felt a secret little thrill. It was such a familiar look, that flirty thing, and that, more than anything--more than the excitement around them as the nurses continued to work, more than Aurora’s silent cheering from the sidelines--that made her feel so _certain_ about him. 

“I--”

But Emma was Emma, and she faltered. Inside, she felt disappoint deflate her lungs as she leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He breathed in, stiff and sharp, a little cough escaping and making her freeze momentarily. Then he breathed out, long and steady, and she, herself, could breathe again. 

_Now is not the time._

She leaned down further and to the side, her lips brushing against his hair until she reached his ear, pressing another soft kiss there and whispering so that only he could hear it.

“I’m really glad you’re alive.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for joining me on this theoretical ride
> 
> come say hi on tumblr, i won't bite probably

The entire time the nurses were doing their assessments and the doctors were...doing whatever it was they were doing, Emma was off to the side, putting her bed away and psyching herself up to have the conversation she’d been dying to have for days now. When everyone left and it finally got quiet, she turned, ready to face Killian and bracing for whatever impact was coming.  


“You’re still in your pajamas, Swan.”

“Oh yeah? Well,” she said, walking toward the bed, and if there was a little sway in her step, so be it, “you’re wearing a gown that probably shows your ass.”

“And a fine ass it is, too.”

Her eyes dropped down as she thought about it. Yes, yes it was.

“Swan,” he said, his voice still hoarse from being intubated but now even deeper, lower. “Stop thinking about it. Now’s hardly the time.”

“I’m not,” she scoffed.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“And you’re a terrible driver. Why the hell were you out so late? Were you tired? Because if you were tired, you should have called me, you know I would have come to pick you up--” Emma cut herself off, horrified to discover that she was filled with anger and fear and that apparently, it had been bubbling just below the surface the entire time she’d been at his side, waiting for him to wake up so she could finally talk about it. Just thinking about it, about how he’d come so close to--

“Hey,” he said, his voice still low but gentle now, soothing, in that way that only he had. He took her hand and squeezed it, making her want to look at him, but she couldn’t. If she met his eyes, she’d probably break.

She could have _lost_ him.

“Emma. I’m all right. See? Awake and alive, and despite the arse-revealing gown and poor lighting, still devilishly handsome as ever.” She chuckled, feeling a spark igniting a little flame in her belly. He’d always been like this, able to talk or touch her out of an emotional explosion. How had she never noticed before?

“I was so worried,” she whispered before she could stop herself. He squeezed her hand again and she closed her eyes, trying to keep the upswell of tears at bay. He let her have that, simply holding her hand until she’d gathered herself, and when she reopened her eyes he was looking at her all earnest and soft.

“I’m not going anywhere, love. I’m a--”

“Survivor, I know. Regina actually--”

And then the woman herself made her presence known.

“Where is he? I should have been informed the _instant_ he woke up. Are the doctors with him? I want a status report, I want blood levels drawn, I want ABGs, I want to know his RBCs and electrolytes immediately.” Regina’s voice strengthened in volume as she approached the room, and Killian chuckled, giving Emma’s hand one last squeeze before letting go.

Emma didn’t let go, though.

“Since when do you know shit about electrolytes, highness?” Killian said, his voice almost clear now as his sister swept into the room. Emma looked up and she was glad she did, because she got to witness the shock and joy on Regina’s face, even though it was there for a mere second. Then she fixed it into her usual barely-amused expression as she came to the side of the bed opposite from Emma.

If Regina noticed that Emma was still holding her brother’s hand, she didn’t comment on it.

“Since a certain dumbass I know went and got himself banged up.”

“Well, Queenie, I know I usually do the banging, but--”

“Save it. How’s your rib? Can you move? Does it hurt to breathe? Is your throat sore?”

“Planning a career change, are we?”

“I can google, Killian.” Regina sounded exasperated and Killian sounded like the little shit brother he always was with her, and it was just so normal that Emma felt watery relief burbling at the back of her throat. “You know I prefer to be prepared.”

“Stop terrorizing the staff. I’m fine.”

“You have a broken rib, your handsomeness is now in question due to several facial lacerations, and until two days ago, you had an open hole in your chest. Excuse me for being concerned and expecting the best care possible.”

“Hey, did you hear that?” Killian said in a mock-aside to Emma. “She just admitted I’m handsome.”

“Well, it’s true,” Emma smiled. Normally she would have jumped at the chance to knock him down a peg or two, but she just didn’t feel like it. She was too damned happy.

Something about the way she said it or the fact that she said it in the first place made both Killian and Regina fix her with an incredulous look. _What? I can give compliments, too._

“Anyway. You seem fine. How are you feeling, any pain?”

“Regina, I am excellent. They have this wonderful little candy dispenser--” and here he held up the PCA full of morphine that the nurses had shown him to use with his left hand, pushing the button twice with his thumb--”and I’ve got a beautiful woman at my side” and he held up Emma’s hand with his right. A wolfish grin overtook his face, and Emma laughed when Regina rolled her eyes in slow motion.

“Drugs and flirting. You’re fine.” She sighed heavily, looking around for a chair. Emma started to offer to bring hers over to Regina’s side when the woman suddenly looked exhausted, a rare moment where there was a crack in the veneer of her usual solid, strong presence. “How many brothers do you think I have left, anyhow?”

Killian’s mouth opened, but he didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. He licked his lips several times, looking uncertain, and it made Emma want to cry.

_Goddamn, it’s getting too emotional in here._

“I’m going to leave you two alone,” she said, trying to step away, only Killian squeezed her hand again, like he didn’t want to let go now that he had it. She looked at him and was momentarily thrown by the vulnerability in his face. It was like mentioning the ghost of Liam had opened an old wound, raw and exposed, and the sudden sad tension in the room was starting to choke her. Her unoccupied hand flew to her chest, the ring warm and reassuring between her breasts.

“I’ll be back,” she told him firmly, twisting her fingers until she could rub his wrist with her thumb. 

“You’d better,” he told her.

“Promise,” she said softly. He nodded before letting go.

Grabbing her things, Emma rushed out of the hospital, not noticing she was still in her pajamas until she’d gotten almost halfway home.

* * *

When she returned, David, Mary Margaret, Rob, and Ruby were there, laughing and talking and generally making their presence known on the entire floor. Every staff member she passed smiled at her, offering thumbs-ups and hearty “congratulations!,” even people she’d never seen in Killian’s room once. It made her wonder if like, they were the talk of the hospital--they were gossipy places, right? Were she and Killian something that got discussed over brewing coffee and boxes of chocolates in the nurse’s lounge?

“You guys are loud,” Emma commented as she walked into the room. She smiled at the “hey!”s and “there she is!”es, her smiling getting a little goofy when she met Killian’s eyes. 

Regina was sitting at his bedside, texting a million words a minute. She rose from the chair gracefully, her eyes never leaving the little screen as her thumbs continued to fly. Feeling like she was being stared at, Emma took the chair, crossing her legs and looking over at her friends gathered around the bed.

“So Swan,” Killian said, his tone innocent, which instantly put her on alert. “They tell me you were like an avenging angel, keeping watch over my coma-stricken self and scowling at anyone coming in.”

“That’s--I do not scowl,” she said, a frown puckering her forehead. How much had they told him? What had _Regina_ told him? Ruby? She didn’t think her friends would have said something to him, would they have said something to him?

He reached out with his thumb and pressed it between her brows, rubbing lightly and tutting loudly. She noticed that he no longer sounded hoarse, so she looked over to see if his color was improving along with his voice. She noticed he was wincing slightly, and when she glanced down in a panic to make sure she wasn’t accidentally cutting off his IV or something, she realized his arm was shaking and that he was hunched slightly to the left, his thumb still pressed on her frown. The effort of doing it was causing him pain.

“You’re going to open up your surgical site,” she snapped, gently removing his hand from her face and carefully tucking his arm at his side. “Get better so we don’t have to keep bugging the nice nurses.”

“See? Avenging angel,” he chuckled, and everyone else (well, not Regina) laughed, too.

An hour later, the doctors came through to make their rounds, so everyone got kicked out. 

Everyone except Emma. 

“Well, Miss Swan, looks like your constant monitoring paid off,” Dr. Whale said, offering a kind and somewhat smirky smile. “His blood work looks good, and--” The doctor carefully pulled at the tape on Killian’s midsection after pulling his gown up on the side, lifting the bandage and making a “hmm” sound. “Good approximation. The incision is healing nicely, the scar will be barely noticeable.”

“But women love scars,” Killian groused. “Perhaps you could make it a bit crooked? Hey!” He snapped his neck to glare at Emma, who had dug her nails into his palm where she’d been holding his hand. “Bad form! That’s kicking a man when he’s down, Swan.”

“I think it’s going to be a while before you’re in any condition to let a woman see that particular scar,” she said, not wanting to meet his eye. _And it better only be only this woman_ , she thought mutinously. It was starting to kill her, not telling him. Which was ridiculous as it had only been festering around in her head for a few days now. She deflected, blurting out the first sarcasm she could come up with. “What story would you make up for it, anyway?”

“Knife fight.”

“While saving orphans,” Dr. Whale supplied, pointing his pen at Killian before returning to scribbling on the chart. “Swords would be better.”

“Sword fight it is.”

“While defending a maiden’s honor.”

“And of course, she showed her gratitude by--”

“I’m outta here,” Emma interrupted, loosening her claws and going to stand, but Killian held on tighter and yanked until she sat down again.

“It will be weeks, of course, before you can return to any--vigorous activity, like, _ahem_ \-- _sword_ fighting,” Dr. Whale said, raising his eyebrows significantly at the two of them. “You won’t want to undo my good work. That rib fracture will heal more quickly than if it were in other bones, that’s the good news. The bad? No heavy lifting or twisting at the waist, and you’ll need PT and OT for, oh. A month or so once you’re discharged.”

“Which is when?” Killian asked, suddenly very expectant.

“We’ll monitor your progress. It’s only been a few hours since you woke up, and we don’t want to do anything to make you regress. Don’t worry, Mr. Jones. Everyone is taking good care of you. I don’t think your sister would allow for anything less. Or your girlfriend.”

“Oh, she’s not my girlfriend,” Killian hurried to say, quickly slipping his hand from hers. Though his words were true, it was like a knife to Emma’s gut. Or a broken rib to her lung, she supposed. Sinking, a stifling feeling in her chest. Was this what it had felt like when his lung filled with blood?

“Right. Well, keep up the good work,” Whale said cheerfully, clicking his pen twice before hustling out of the room, a bunch of interns trailing after him. One of them gave Emma a grin and a wave before exiting, and she grinned back.

“Well, love, looks like I’ll be back to annoying you in no time,” Killian said cheerfully. Emma blinked slowly and shook her head, looking over to see him looking at her as he always did.

As if their one night had never happened.

That was what she had been afraid of. That he wasn’t changed by it. That she was the only one in agony, the only one with all of these feelings.

_But Ruby and Regina had said…_

Emma mentally swatted the thought away. It didn’t matter what they said. The only thing that mattered was what _Killian_ said.

Which she’d only find out if she asked. Or volunteered her own feelings first.

 _Be brave, Emma_ , she told herself.

“So,” she began, settling back into her chair, wondering what to say next.

“So.”

“You eat yet?”

“Like a man who’s been asleep for a few days, yes.”

“Food good?”

“Like ambrosia. I suspect I’ll tire of it soon enough, but for now, bring on the pudding and the Jell-o.”

“Jell-o for broken ribs?”

“Magical healing properties.”

“Ah.”

“Although I suppose I ought to watch it, wouldn’t want to undo all of this hard work.”

“What hard work, the surgery?”

“This, Swan.”  There was a light blanket covering Killian’s lower half, so with a look of utter mischief in his eyes, he lifted the hospital gown he was wearing, slowly gathering the fabric in his fist and pulling it out from under the covers. Emma watched helplessly, gulping a couple of times while her eyes were trained on what was being revealed. The happy trail, then the first ripple of sharp definition. The asshole kept going, her eyes following the path of defined perfection until his entire abdomen was revealed, and blindly, Emma reached for the cup of water at the side of his bed, her mouth feeling quite dry.

She almost choked on the water when the edges of the bandage across his ribs started to show. she'd almost forgotten about that. 

_He is broken._

_I can fix it._

Before she could stop herself, she reached out, her fingers brushing along the tape holding the bandage in place. She’d seen it the first day she was there, one of the day nurses coming in to check on him, lifting his gown and revealing the unhealthy pallor of his skin. At the time she had been unable to take her eyes off of it, wondering at the mysterious wonder of medical science, these people who could take a broken man and make him right again. 

Now she couldn’t take her eyes away for a completely different reason. He was awake now, alive and vital and vital to her. Just looking at the thick dusting of hair across his chest made her remember how it felt to have it scratching at her skin, teasing her and heightening all sensations as he pressed against her, naked and warm, his lips seeking hers out, his eyes meeting hers, forcing intimacy she’d been so scared of facing.

“Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

“Oh my God.”

Emma put her cup down before dipping her fingertips in the water and flicking ice-cold droplets on his bare skin. 

“Hey!” he laughed, dropping the gown and wincing when his body flinched. “Broken Killian, remember? Don’t startle me, I’ve only got twenty-three working ribs left.”

“Oh God, sorry!” she squeaked, jumping up and putting her hands out like she could make it better somehow, but he just laughed and reached up to circle her wrists with his hands. 

“No harm done, love. I deserved it, anyway,” he said, smiling at her. She smiled back. _Here we go again_ , she thought, unable to help herself and not caring. _We’re just going to keep smiling at each other like this until one of us dies from inaction, probably me._

“Maybe stop turning everything dirty,” she offered when he let go. She sat down again, silently telling him _please don’t do that_. He grinned, big and wide, his eyes flashing. This was more like their old conversations--the ones before they’d fucked--but something was different this time. Like there was some grand joke they were both in on. Like she no longer cared that he was a giant flirt.

“You enjoy it,” he said, closing his eyes and settling his head into his pillow.

“Maybe,” she said softly, lifting her feet onto the bed to rest next to his legs. He smiled, his eyes still closed, and when she leaned back into her chair, her own eyes closing as she reached out for his hand, she didn’t have to search long. It was already there, waiting for her.

* * *

Life continues and Emma had to return to work. Now that Killian was awake, it wasn’t such a hardship. In fact, it was something of a welcome distraction, as she could hardly agonize over how to bring anything up when she was doing research on her next dirtbag; she had to pay attention. But when she was sitting in her car, waiting for the dirtbag to do something stupid, the thoughts began to intrude.

She couldn’t just say, “So hey, I think I’m in love with you and I was wondering if maybe you liked me, too,” right? Too junior high.

“How’re your ribs, do you think I could take them out for a spin by sitting on your face,” seemed to lack the required delicacy of admitting love, though she didn’t exactly think he’d turn her down.

Killian remained in the hospital while his bones continued to knit together and his health continued to improve. Emma visited every single day, wanting to stay with him at night, even though she knew that was a bad idea. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that something would go wrong if she stopped keeping vigil, and she was terrified of the idea that there’d be one of those complications everyone kept mentioning and she would miss him before he like, went into a coma again.

“Swan, don’t be ridiculous,” he’d told her when she’d insisted on staying that first day he was awake. “You’ve been here three nights, you need your own bed.” _Oh, you mean the one you’ve been naked on?_ she wanted to retort, but it seemed bad form to bring that up when neither of them could do anything about it. 

They’d argued over it a little more, Emma feeling a little annoyed that he was being so ornery about it until she’d finally blurted out, “Don’t you want me to sleep with you?”

Oh boy.

He turned red. Actually turned beet red. It would have been adorable if she hadn’t been sure she was just as red.

“I--I mean, of course I do, not that I mean _sleep_ with you sleep with you, but it’s just--”

“Killian, it’s okay, that’s not what I meant--”

“--I just didn’t want you to think I didn’t--”

“--Well, obviously I know that you do--”

“--and I’m quite honored by your enthusiasm in professing to wish to sleep with me again.”

There. It was out there. 

The first time either of them had explicitly brought it up. At least she _thought_ that’s what they were talking about.

Emma met his eyes directly, deciding to stick her foot in the doorway he’d opened for her, hoping it wouldn’t transfer to her mouth when she spoke.

“I think we need to wait until you’re all healed before we can talk about doing anything _again_ , Killian. Much as I want to.”

She was grateful to see that the man could actually be rendered speechless. She honestly never thought it possible.

Then Regina had (blessedly) shown up with a Louis Vuitton overnight bag slung over Rob’s shoulder, ending their almost-confession time. Regina declared Emma needed her beauty rest because her eye circles looked worse than usual (and then apologizing after Rob and Killian’s combined “Regina!”), nearly shoving Emma out the door so she could arrange the room to her specifications.

So, Emma had taken turns staying at the hospital with all of their friends. Mary Margaret took the next night, then Rob, then David. The day of Ruby’s turn, Emma was busy hauling a scumsucker named James to the precinct where he was wanted, and it had taken the clerk nearly two hours to find the requisite paperwork so he could cut her a check. By the time Emma left the station, it was well past eleven, and while she desperately wanted to see Killian, to look at him with her own two eyes and feel visibly comforted by his alive-ness, she also knew that wouldn’t be fair to him. The docs and nurses kept reminding all of them that the best thing for him was rest with bouts of supervised, appropriate activity, and Emma didn’t think a random visit near midnight was considered appropriate. So, with reluctance, she went home, trying not to think about him lying next to her on her own bed one day.

The next night, it was her turn to stay with him. 

She didn’t know why she was so nervous. She’d stayed there several nights, after all.

Then again, he had been unconscious the entire time.

This would be the first time the two of them had slept together in the same room, with this new closeness between them while both were aware of it, anyway. She figured drunken nights where entire parties ended up passed out in various states of undress, sobriety, and solitude didn’t count. Neither did the times when one of them fell asleep in the other’s room while studying. Or the times Killian had stumbled into her apartment to sleep off some bender. Or the times Emma just needed to not be alone and had sort of tricked the both of them into falling asleep on his couch while watching old movies.

That day had been his first with the physical therapist; he seemed cranky, and more tired than usual. He didn’t say much when she came out of the bathroom in the cutest pajamas she owned, just lifted one brow after his eyes had roved over the thin material of her camisole, zeroing in for one second on the jut of her nipples before she could pull David’s old Van Halen sweatshirt over her head. 

“‘Night, Swan,” he murmured in the dark as she settled under the covers.

“‘Night, Jones.”

Some time during the night, she must have been having some kind of terrible dream because when she was startled out of her sleep, she didn’t know where she was for a moment. Then the ambient noise of the hospital settled in around her, and she remembered. The last dregs of the dream were slipping from her; all she could remember was an awful feeling of chasing something that she simply had to catch, but it kept just out of reach, and she couldn’t shake the feeling it was gone forever. Her chest was heaving and she felt burning at the corners of her eyes; she was reaching out for her water bottle when she heard a creaking and a muffled groan.

“Swan? Are you all right? Hold on, love.” Then she realized the creaking was Killian moving around, and she sat up quickly, her feet hitting the floor and disorientation sweeping over her as she stood too quickly.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Don’t get up, you’ll hurt yourself.” There was another moan as she heard him flop back in bed; the idiot actually thought he was going to stand up on his own? “Oh my God, Killian. I wasn’t dying, you shouldn’t move like that!” She rushed over to his bed and tried to focus on his features, anxiety filling her body as she looked for signs of new injury. There was a faint light coming from under the door and soft reds and greens glowing from numbers on machines nearby, but other than that, it wasn’t bright enough for her to make him out in the dark. She leaned forward, trying to find him, and that’s when her nose bumped into his head.

“Oh,” she breathed, not realizing he had been sitting up, or that he was so close. It startled him, too; he turned his head toward her quickly, his nose brushing hers. She drew in a breath, knowing his lips were right there. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he returned just as breathlessly. 

“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” she asked, her voice whisper-quiet. She reached out blindly in the dark and found his chest beneath her hand, warm and strong.

“A little,” he admitted, his own voice gentle. “I sat up a bit fast, I’m afraid.”

“Here,” she said, achingly aware of how close he was and trying to ignore it. “Let me help.” She felt her way to his shoulder, reaching out with her other hand to steady him. “Go ahead and lean back.” He nodded but did not move; she could hear him swallow roughly, could feel his breath warm against her mouth, could feel the occasional brush of his hair against her temple. Finally, he leaned back, his breath hitching a little in pain while she helped ease him back onto his pillows.

“Damn,” he laughed softly, and she heard the strain in it. “That hurts.”

“Killian,” she chided, a little mad that she’d been the cause of it, “you’ve got to watch it.”

“You were having a bad dream,” he said, his voice getting defensive.

“Yeah? So? What were you going to do, crawl into bed with me and ease my fears?”

“You are fucking stubborn, d’you know that?”

“What? That has nothing to do with anything. I’m talking about you taking it easy so you can get out of here and I can--” But she stopped herself before she could finish the thought, suddenly aware she wasn’t quite awake and therefore much more susceptible to saying something she wasn’t ready to say just yet.

“I just don’t like it when you’re hurting,” he said softly, petulantly. Because it was dark, she felt free to grin. It was a simple thing to say, but it made her feel so _light_ inside.

“Yeah, imagine what it was like watching you not waking up while sporting a hole in your fucking chest.”

He was silent for a moment before responding.

“Sorry for scaring you, love.”

“You said that already.”

“Yes, well, I’m still sorry.”

“I know.”

After another moment of not at all uncomfortable silence, Emma yawned, knowing she needed to go back to bed. She hated the thought of that dream returning, though. She knew what it was all about, and she wasn’t keen on having it again.

“All right, Swan. Hop up.”

“What? You’re a crazy person.”

“Your body is thin and lithe. And lovely. But you ought to fit tucked in next to me right here.” She heard him thump the mattress twice and laughed incredulously. She couldn’t share his hospital bed with him! 

Right?

“You’ll fit if you lie on your side. Just don’t pull out my IV, Aurora will kill you.”

“She’s going to kill me anyway.”

“She adores you.”

 _I adore_ you _._

“But--”

“Swan. For once, bow to my superior judgment. I’m told I make an excellent, calming pillow. I’ve no wish for your dreams to be violent, and as it stands, this man could use a beautiful woman at his side. No medicine in the land makes up for it. Now get over here.” He thumped the mattress again for effect, and while Emma knew it was a terrible idea...she couldn’t bring it within herself to care.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” She could hear the grin splitting his lips and wished she could see it, too.

“Don’t gloat. Shove over.”

“Morphine candy first.” She heard the soft click and release of the PCA, then his happy sigh a moment later. As carefully as she could, she climbed up onto the bed, apologizing profusely when he hissed in pain and trying like hell not to jostle him around too much. After a few false starts and bending her elbow to find a comfortable position, in no time at all, Emma was curled at Killian’s side, her head in the crook of his shoulder and her right hand resting low on his abdomen. She realized she needed to do something with her legs or they’d drive her crazy resting on each other, so she tested out Killian’s pain tolerance by edging her knee closer to his thigh.

“Go ahead, love,” he sighed, seeming to read her mind as usual. “I’ll let you know if it becomes uncomfortable.”

“Okay,” she sighed happily, bending her knee and resting it across his legs. He wiggled a little until he found his own comfortable position, and then he was snoring softly in no time.

She didn’t have any more bad dreams that night.

* * *

The tenth day after he woke up, Killian was discharged from the hospital. He was able to walk a few laps around the sixth floor with little pain, and he was being eased off his painkillers. Regina and Emma were both there, listening intently as the doctor explained the discharge instructions. Regina nodded crisply, informing everyone present that he _would_ follow protocol, and that she already had PT and OT scheduled three times a week as well as hiring private care to see to him until he was given the all clear in his follow-up a month from now.

“Overbearing pain in the arse,” he muttered.

“Idiotic shit for brains,” she returned. 

“Good luck with these two, Miss Swan,” Dr. Whale said, handing her a thick manila envelope full of paperwork.

Emma offered to stay with him once he was home, too, but Killian had insisted that she’d upended her life for him quite enough already. It got to the point where he was slightly embarrassed, telling her he simply needed time to acclimate, to get used to the fact that at least temporarily, his life was not going to be the same.

 _Hopefully I can help make it more permanent, once you’re all healed up and I can talk to you properly_ , she thought, simply nodding in response and laying his paperwork on the kitchen counter. Regina had hired daily maid service in addition to the home health nurses; Emma kind of wanted to have Regina take over her life, too, if it meant daily cleanliness and someone making sure she ate properly. Then again, Killian had always been the type to keep his place tidy, anyway, and he was the one who always chided the overabundance of cheese in her life. Regina really was a good sister, trying to keep things simple and efficient so that her brother could heal properly. 

The nursing aide sent by the home health agency was an incredibly cranky man named Leroy. Emma met him the day after Killian got home; it had taken a lot out of her not to go to his place and...do something, anything. She was starting to go stir crazy. Work was no longer distracting her sufficiently to keep her from thinking about the fact that there was a man that she loved, and she still hadn’t told him. She wasn’t sure why she was dicking around so much, but she told herself that she would give him the requested space. At least until he was all better.

“What Leroy lacks in social graces, he makes up for in indelicate grunting,” Killian said while the stocky and slightly rude man tidied up the living room. Emma had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing; Killian went on to describe the “utter joy of my man nurse meeting the voice on the other end of the phone” when Regina had arrived the previous day, barking orders and ensuring everything was going exactly as planned. Emma shook with laughter, imagining it exactly as Killian described. She took joy in hearing his fondness for his step-sister come through, especially since she knew Regina felt that same fond exasperation for him. 

“So,” Killian began once Leroy had left, the man barely acknowledging Killian’s “I look forward to our time together three days’ hence.” Emma settled in next to him on the couch, propping her feet up on his coffee table and purposefully messing up the spread of _GQ_ s and _W._ s just to irritate him. 

“So?”

“So, what now?”

“Movie?”

“Done.”

It reminded her a lot of their college days, when they used to just pop into each other’s rooms and hang out when discovering the other wasn’t with someone else. It was nice, but at the same time, it just wasn’t enough. Had it been like that before? She vaguely felt like it was. Good, but ultimately unsatisfying. Sitting next to him, she felt this electric buzz under her skin, urging her forward but too unsettling to actually do anything about it.

Emma didn’t stay the night, didn’t even fall asleep on his shoulder. She was too hyper-aware to nod off, too alert for any sign that he might be making a move on her.

_Don’t be dumb, Emma. He’s in no condition to make any moves._

She beat herself up on the drive home, wondering where the smooth girl who wound men around her finger went. He didn’t put an arm around her, didn’t tease her, didn’t give her any sly looks. No; he had simply seemed content to sit there next to her on the couch, watching an old western and thanking her for keeping him company once the credits had rolled. She helped him to bed, not knowing how or where to touch him, so keen was she on making sure she didn’t make it worse. Turned out he just needed some back support when lying down, and as she’d stood over him, slightly bent and hovering above his sleepy face, he’d tugged on her hair and offered her a crooked grin and soft thanks.

She almost kissed him good night, but she didn’t.

She almost decided to crash on his couch, but she didn’t.

She almost blurted out “I love you!” when his eyes closed, but she didn’t.

She was a fucking _coward_.

The next night went much the same way. She showed up after putting in some time at work, feeling this lightness within her the moment Killian opened the door and his eyes and mouth lifted in happiness at seeing her. He offered to order a pizza, she insisted on paying, and they nearly fell asleep on the couch until she nodded awake, panicking at the thought he might be hurt if he fell asleep sitting up.

The next night when she showed up, he was clutching his side, and she freaked out a bit. He was cranky, muttering about sadistic physical therapists and hobbling as she followed him inside. 

“I’d just sat down when you showed up,” he said, making guilt descend on her chest. Was she coming over too much? Was she being obvious?

That night, they both fell asleep on the couch (“I can’t believe you’ve never seen _Twelve O’Clock High_.” “God, you’re such an old man. What’re you, like a hundred?”). She woke around 3am to him grumbling and her curled up in a ball and using his thigh as a pillow. 

“Go back to sleep,” she mumbled, too comfortable, too tired, too sleep-happy to realize in a muddled way that they had fallen asleep together. But then he’d shifted and let out a sharp hiss, and she sat up in an instant, wide awake and panicking that he might be hurt.

“I’m fine, Swan,” he muttered as she flitted about, trying to find the right bottle of pills. “It’s my back, not my ribs.”

“The doctor said to head pain off before it gets worse,” she insisted, squinting in the too-bright light of the kitchen at the tiny printed words on the various CVS containers scattered on his kitchen counter.

“Well, the doctor is not here, and I need to stop relying so much on pharmaceuticals.”

“Better living through chemistry, Jones.”

“Just get me into bed, I’ll be fine.”

“That’s the plan,” she muttered, still squinting at a bottle.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Let’s go, love.”

“Fine,” she sighed, putting the pills down. She walked over, now comfortable with the act of providing a little support when he stood, keeping her back straight like one of the physical therapists had taught her, and letting him do most of the work. Emma was afraid he would push himself, would try to use his own obstinacy to will himself to get better; not if Emma had anything to say about it.

“Lean on me a little, your legs are shaky.”

“Are not.”

“Killian.”

“Emma. I can do it.” He jerked his shoulder, stepping away stiffly as they made it to the doorway of his bedroom. Emma stopped there, leaning against the doorway from both sleepiness and irritation, watching as he stumbled over to the bed. He turned, facing her but not meeting her eye as he slowly bent his knees and sat at the edge of the bed. He shifted carefully, lifting one leg onto the mattress and sort of sit-falling until he was mostly on the bed. Emma raised her eyebrows, waiting. And waiting. Any moment now…

“Uh, Swan?”

“Yes, Counselor?”

“Perhaps you could stop gawping and help me out? I concede defeat. Take pity on me, my beautiful, avenging angel.”

With amusement, Emma complied, helping him get into bed. When he was situated just right (“move the pillow a bit to the left, love. More. More. Left, Emma. Left. Port, sailor!”), Emma looked down, whispering a soft good night and trying to ignore the urge to just crawl into bed next to him.

This continued for weeks; Emma would come over after work and hang out, eating dinner with him and doing as much as she could until he got irritated and insisted she was not his maid and he was just _fine_. Sometimes they’d fall asleep on the couch, sometimes she’d leave if she had an early morning. Sometimes Regina was there, sometimes David and Mary Margaret would bring casseroles. Ruby began coming over on Saturday nights with tequila and Scrabble.

But it was Emma who was there every day. Occasionally she would be there during the day, all but supervising Leroy or August the physical therapist or Kathryn the occupational therapist, whom Emma had been dismayed to discover was ethereally beautiful but was pleased to discover was all business and completely unaffected by Killian’s light flirting. Smee, his assistant, began to come over with paperwork for Killian to sign off on and updates on the office as well as running errands for him; the man seemed lost without his boss, and Emma grinned every time Killian swatted him away, citing state disability code and warning him to leave a man in peace and quiet.

And all the while, Emma was there, laughing and silently threatening to punch anyone who so much as caused him to grimace in pain.

It occurred to her during all of this that she was basically acting like his girlfriend. Only she wasn’t, she wasn’t his girlfriend. Because she still hadn’t said a damned thing about her feelings. And she wasn’t convinced he felt the same way. He seemed like his normal self with some added physical restrictions, and even those were fading as he continued to heal and get much stronger.

It was getting harder and harder to spend time with him and not say things, to not tell him how she felt. She told herself she was waiting for him to be all better, but some of the time she wondered if he didn’t feel the same way, too--the way she’d catch him looking at her, or almost looking at her, anyway, like he was doing his best to ignore that he’d been staring--and some of the time she thought she was making it all up, that her friends were wrong, that it really was the way it appeared to be: he was her simply best friend. No one knew her better, and now no one knew her body better, but he wasn’t interested in taking things any further than that.

Sometimes when she was sitting next to him, she wanted to just jump on his lap to see what he’d do.

Sometimes she wanted to kiss him, just to see if he’d kiss her back. And see how he’d kiss her back. She felt like if she could just press her lips to his and feel the way he reacted to it that she’d just _know_.

It’s the not knowing that was slowly killing her.

 _How did people do this?_ she wondered. _How did people exist in silent agony while sitting next to the person they loved?_ She wasn’t all that sure she could do it anymore.

* * *

“So, how goes the rehabilitation of Killian Jones?”

Emma was having a drink with Mary Margaret right after work. They were at a little bar downtown, near enough to Killian’s that Emma could stop by if she wanted, which, of course, she did. She both looked forward to seeing him and dreaded another evening of silently pining and not knowing how to do anything about it.

“Fine. He had his last appointment with PT today, and his follow-up scans are tomorrow.”

“So he should be back to his womanizing ways in no time, then.”

“Yeah.” Emma looked down at her empty glass, poking at the ice cubes with her finger and trying not to sound so forlorn. 

“I take it you don’t approve,” Mary Margaret said wryly.

“That’s his business.”

“Not yours?” Emma could practically hear her friend smirking so she looked up, ready with a retort, but what she saw was closer to sympathy than mockery.

“What, Mary Margaret,” Emma sighed, wondering how many more of her friends she could take telling her what she already knew. But, in true Mary Margaret fashion, her friend didn’t try to tell her what to think or how to think it. She simply offered the best thing she had to give: herself. With a little mothering on the side.

“Don’t ‘what’ me, Emma. I know what he’s like, but I know what you’re like, too. Just...take care of him. I know you’re there often enough. It says a lot. I’m here, you know, if you need to talk.”

“I know.”

“But I think we both know I’m not who you need to talk to. You doin’ okay?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

And it was that simple. Emma sometimes forgot how comforting Mary Margaret could be--how gentle and good. 

But also how ass kicking.

“Now get over there, quit stalling. Call me later. Tell him I said ‘hi’ and that we’re bringing his disgusting olive and pineapple pizza Saturday night.”

“Will do.” Emma stood, kissing her friend on the cheek and feeling that killer combination of dread and excitement filling her with every step toward Killian’s apartment.

She gnawed on her lip when she got to his door, playing with her necklace, jiggling the chain and occasionally thumbing the ring that was there. She’d taken to not tucking it into her shirt lately, wanting the reassurance of it sitting out there in the open. Finally sucking in a deep breath, she knocked on the door, a little thrown when it opened with the thump of her fist.

“Swan? That you?”

“Who else?” she called out, grinning despite herself. She shut and locked the door behind her before kicking off her ankle boots and leaving them next to his Sambas. She could get used to it, she really could--coming home to him being there, getting yelled at when her shoes weren’t lined up nice and neat next to his.

“Hey, I was thinking Chinese tonight--” Emma stopped short when she entered the living room. Ruby was sitting there on the couch, smiling a big, satisfied Ruby smile. Killian looked over and Emma could have sworn he looked sheepish, but she didn’t have any guesses as to why. Obviously, she’d walked in on some kind of heart-to-heart, and her eyes narrowed at her friend, the one with freshly dyed streaks of red in her hair and her signature red-painted grin.

“Order me some salt and pepper pork chops and you can count me in,” Ruby said as Killian smiled and mouthed, “hello.”

“Oh,” Emma said, startled. She hadn’t expected Ruby to be there, and she definitely hadn’t expected to have to share Killian. She didn’t mind, of course, but she was feeling itchy, like there was something crawling under her skin that she just needed to get out--something that couldn’t be scratched when Ruby was right there. “Yeah, we can do that.” Ruby grinned more wolfishly at that, her teeth showing as she laughed without making a sound.

“Nah, I’d better get going.” Ruby stood, patting Killian on the head before leaning over to kiss his cheek. “You think on what I said, yeah?”

“Bye, Ruby,” Killian said clearly and with finality. He raised his eyebrows and waggled them toward the door; Emma wondered what that was all about.

Ruby ignored her questioning look as she sailed by, air-kissing as she passed and sing-songing under her breath what sounded suspiciously like, “you’re welcome.”

As Emma made her way to the couch, Killian picked up his phone and put in an order for their usual--Hong Kong-style lo mein and kung pao shrimp with four egg rolls. The food arrived twenty minutes later and they settled into bickering over whose turn it was to pick a movie. It was nice and it wasn’t; Emma was tired of nice. She was tired of the comfort of this...whatever it was they were doing. 

Killian appeared to be fed up with the situation, too. He seemed intent on picking a fight with her from the moment the food was delivered. 

“You keep saying the lines a half second before,” he grumbled, shoving a large mouthful of noodles in his mouth.

“Yeah, well you keep getting the lines completely wrong,” she huffed, trying to focus on Judd Nelson and the rest of the Breakfast Club.

“You left a pair of socks under the coffee table last night,” he told her after she’d padded over to his bedroom and reappeared with some of his white socks pulled up all the way to her knees. She was wearing a skirt that day, and her legs were cold. 

“So sue me, my feet get cold.”

“Leroy and the maids are no longer here to pick up after your untidy self, Swan.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, wondering what had crawled up his butt and died. What had Ruby said that seemed to have him in such a snit? “Killian, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I am fine.”

“Are you nervous about your appointment tomorrow?”

“What? No. Actually, I--”

“Worried about returning to work next week if all goes well?”

“I look forward to using my brain again.”

“And your mouth. Um, are you in pain? I can--”

“Swan. I’m _fine_. Leave it be.”

“Okay,” she said dubiously. She turned back to the television, but suddenly, her favorite 80s movie wasn’t cutting it. She swiveled around to face Killian, bending her knee and tucking her foot under her other leg. When he didn’t face her she simply kept staring, trying to burn a hole into the side of his face with her eyes. Problem was, he didn’t turn around, and all she accomplished was being filled with an overwhelming sense of despair over how handsome he was. He’d lost a little bit of weight in the weeks since the accident, but it was coming back now, along with his strength. The physical therapist had him lifting weights and she thought she could detect the new definition along his arms, her eyes zeroing in on the thickness of a vein running the length of his forearm. She wondered if he was doing sit-ups again, and whether his abs looked as delicious as she remembered.

“Swan, I said I’m fine.”

“What! I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re glaring at me.”

“I’m not glaring, I’m…”

“Admiring this jaw that could cut diamonds?”

Her eyes narrowed and that’s when he chose to look at her, his cheeky grin in place, but there was something he was holding back, some missing, essential element that made it seem off. 

_Why won’t you talk to me?_

“You know, you can talk to me. We haven’t really...talked.” She resisted the urge to swallow, pushing down on her panic and trying to look calm.

“What’s there to talk about?” he said somewhat stiffly, turning back to the TV so that she saw the rigid definition as he clenched his jaw, and the way a displeased crease appeared through his scruff.

“Something’s up, I know it,” she accused, suddenly feeling a bit stiff herself. Did he know, now? Did Ruby have a talk with him the same way she’d had a talk with Emma? Did he know how she felt, and he was being weird because of it?

Had she, Emma, ruined everything by falling for her best friend?

Then, in an odd moment of blankness, Emma decided she just wanted it over with. She was going to put it out there; she was going to tell him. Then he could reject her, and it would be weird for a while, but they’d go back to being friends. Right? They were both notorious anti-monogamists; nothing wrong with that. He was probably as uninterested in having a girlfriend as she was a boyfriend.

These denials were the things Emma chanted to herself as she took several tester breaths before going for it. Then she inhaled deep and slow and tried to make her arm reach out and touch him so he would face her, but her arm wouldn’t obey. Helplessly, she stared at him, unable to move or speak, but then she noticed that he seemed to be struggling with the urge to say something, too.

Nodding slightly to herself, Emma decided it was best if he spoke first. He’d always been the one who was better with words, after all. 

She filled herself with as much fortitude as possible, bracing for disappointment, when he surprised her by leaning forward toward the coffee table. He winced and she wondered what he was doing; putting her hand out to steady his back, an automatic reflex that was no longer really needed, she watched as he tried to reach around behind his back. 

“Do you need a pillow?” she asked gingerly, not wanting to keep treating him like an invalid but uncomfortable with the thought that he was uncomfortable. 

“Nope,” he said, his voice tight. He managed to get his hand into his back pocket with a soft “there she is,” before sitting back and letting out a huge, relieved sigh. Then he turned to her and opened his mouth a couple of times, his face fixed in an uncertain expression that she couldn’t quite decipher. _What now?_ she thought.

He seemed to make up his mind, shaking his head and holding out his fist.

“What is it?”

“Take it,” he said, giving her a nod of encouragement. She gulped. The last time he gave her something…

Resisting the urge to reach for the ring still hanging around her neck, she instead put her hand out, palm up and just under his tightly clenched fist. He released whatever it was he was holding and it fell into her hand; she instantly identified it by the warm metal and the sharp edges poking at her skin.

Lifting her eyes to his and already knowing the answer to her question, her breath was nearly taken away by the vulnerability she saw before he schooled his face to a neutral expression--which on Killian was something like bravado and teasing flirtation all at once.

“Your housekey?”

“You seemed intent on coming over every night during my convalescence, so.” He shrugged, like it wasn’t some huge deal, like Killian Jones giving a woman the key to his apartment wasn’t some cataclysmic, seismic event. Like they weren’t both aware that she’d been able to jimmy locks open with a hairpin since she was seventeen and didn’t need a key to get in if she really wanted to. “That doesn’t have to stop simply because I’m declared fit and healthy. That is, if you wish it. I figured I’d save my poor body the trouble of getting up to let you in, if you--” He took a deep breath before smiling at her briefly, maybe even bravely. “If you wish to keep coming over. Every night. Or most nights. Or--”

“If I’m bothering you--”

“Emma, no.” He reached out again, his hand pressing the key onto her still-open palm. Maybe she was crazy, but she thought he waited until she met his steady gaze, until he had her full and undivided attention. “I want you to have it.”

“Okay.”

They looked at each other for a minute, Emma getting lost briefly in his eyes (like, _Jesus_ , were they blue). _I am definitely in love with you_ , she wanted to say, but instead, her mouth got in the way.

“You sure you want that?” she said wryly, immediately reaching for the clasp of the necklace under her hair. She shifted it down and unclasped it, adding the key and smirking when it tinked against the ring. “What if I walk in on you here with some girl that isn’t Ruby or Mary Margaret?” she went on, mentally slapping herself for her “I am uncomfortable with intimacy” sarcasm yet unable to do anything about it. “Unless you’re trying to get me into a threesome. Is that what you want?”

Killian sighed heavily; she saw humor in his eyes and expected the usual smirk to make an appearance, but it didn’t. Instead, he held her gaze, the humor fading to something softer, but more intense. 

“Come on. You have to know there’s only one thing I really want.”

“What is it?” she whispered, emotion threatening to spill from her eyes. Her usual reaction would have been to swipe at her mascara or just run away, but the soft and earnest tone of his voice was just soothing enough to keep her there. 

He lowered his chin and chuckled softly, the motion making his shoulders slump as he shook his head side to side. After a moment--a moment in which she held her breath, held her feelings, held her thoughts--he looked up at her again and this time, the intensity in his eyes was like nothing she’d ever seen before. He’d been an ass, he’d been mocking. He’d been hilarious and he’d been angry. He’d been a thousand things with her over the years, but this time was different from all the rest. He was looking at her like he was determined and like she was the answer to whatever it was he was asking. Before Emma could even begin to process that or even name the emotion making his eyes draw her in so that she wanted to just drown in him, he reached out with one finger and traced a line down the top of her hand.

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.”

“Oh.” And then, “Me?”

“Well. Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Since the day you first shot me down.”

“I see.”

She was silent for a second, trying to place what she was feeling. She was blank, quiet inside, but there was this insistent buzzing that felt like it was getting louder inside her head.

“I think I have, too.”

“You have…?” He seemed genuinely puzzled, but there was this spark of hope simmering in his eyes, and it was that that propelled her forward instead of backing away.

“Been in love with you. I just realized it recently.”

“You have.”

“Yeah. I think seeing you hurt--”

“So you can only admit your feelings when there is a crisis.”

“Hey, I don’t recall you saying anything, either!”

“Well, I had resigned myself to pining in silent--”

“Hey, Jones?”

“Yes, Swan?”

“Shut your mouth.”

With that, Emma rose to one knee and slung the other across his lap, settling down with her forearms balanced on his shoulders. He was close now, closer than they’d ever been, and he’d been inside her. She could feel it, this thing slipping into place. Like all of the other times she’d ever been with him there had been something slightly off, some piece that didn’t fit right, some bit of something that wasn’t sitting well. But now, everything felt right, maybe for the first time ever.

She shook off the wonder of that and stared directly into his eyes.

“I love you.” She said it as clearly and plainly as she could. 

“And I, you.”

“Okay.”

This time when they kissed, it was all Emma. Killian still seemed a bit dazed, his lips responding to hers but in a lazy, almost forgetful way, simply going along with her as she tilted her chin so she could open her mouth wide, sweeping her tongue in and sighing when his tongue followed at a much more leisurely pace. She shifted a little, settling in for a good, long make-out, but somewhere between pressing her breasts to his chest and grinding her hips down to get comfortable, he seemed to wake up. His mouth became more insistent, his tongue more delightfully intrusive. His hands were everywhere, from her shoulders to the tops of her thighs to slow passes under her breasts, like he couldn’t decide where to stop, like he wanted to touch her everywhere at once.

She was definitely into that.

Emma leaned into him more, wanting to feel him, too. She pressed up against him, sighing with her mouth open and head tilting back when he kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin and making shivers flurry down her spine and settle somewhere deep inside. She grabbed at his arm as he continued to breathe heavy against her, squeezing a bit hard and making him flinch.

“Sorry,” she breathed, not at all sorry.

“I’m a fragile man, Swan,” he murmured into her neck. She chuckled, readjusting her focus back to what he was doing, when her eyes popped open and she sat up. “What is it?”

“Oh. Shit, your ribs! I almost forgot, God, I’m so sorry,” she rushed out, scrambling up and off his lap.

“Emma,” he laughed, reaching out for her arm and trying to tug her back down, but she wouldn’t hurt him. Not ever again.

“Swan. I got the all-clear.”

“What? But your appointment is tomorrow.”

“They called and asked if I’d mind coming in today instead. I tried to tell you before. That’s why Ruby was with me, she didn’t work today.”

“I would have--”

“Swan, I know. I didn’t wish to bother you.”

“You don’t bother me. Theoretically.” She looked down at him, glad her smile was genuine, just like his. “In fact,” she continued, yanking on the hand still holding hers. “I kind of like your company.”

“Yeah?” She couldn’t believe the way he was smiling at her. Soft and earnest, no longer unsure.

“Yeah. Come on.” He rose to standing with that arm tug, an eyebrow creeping up as his manner changed from the soft wonder from a moment ago to something darker, and definitely more thrilling.

This time when they went to the bedroom, they were holding hands. He kept lifting their locked fingers to press his lips on her knuckles, the sweet gesture filling her with giddiness.

She sat down at the side of the bed, waiting as he clicked on the bedside lamp and turned to face her.

“I want to see you,” he said softly, his lashes framing his wide-open eyes as he looked at her.

“Good,” she replied, just as soft.

“Have you really been in love with me all this time?” she asked after a moment, peeling his socks from her feet as he began to unbutton his flannel. 

“Emma,” he sighed, looking down with mock defeat as he shrugged out of his shirt. “I knew you weren’t ready for it, but I couldn’t help myself on your birthday. You were offering me something I’d been wanting desperately our entire acquaintance, but I knew if I forced it, you’d run. So, I waited. I longed. I perished, I pined.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Shh,” he grinned, yanking out of his grey undershirt. Then he sighed again, deflating fully before standing upright. “I made love to you that night. I knew I’d hate myself for it later, but I simply didn’t care. I wanted it too much. I wanted _you_ too much.”

“I wanted you, too,” she told him, earning herself another earnest look of wonder. “I just didn’t realize it until I was practically naked.”

“I’d appreciate it if you were fully naked now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

When she was undressed, she laid back on the bed, her eyes never leaving his. She felt calm and relaxed, but a slow pulsing was beginning down below, and while she kind of wanted him to just get on with it, she decided this was much better. The anticipation, the wondering if it would be any different now that everything was out in the open.

As she watched him move toward her, she realized how amazing it was that none of it seemed at all awkward.

He _loved_ her. And she loved him.

He started by sitting at her side, leaning down to brush his lips against hers. When he sat back up again his hand was at her throat, his fingers dancing along her flesh. He lifted his touch and waited a second, drawing out the suspense before drawing a line from between her breasts and down, then going back up across the swell and curve of each breast and on up to her collarbone, his fingers light as they continued tracing up to her neck and along her jaw before going back down the same path, his touch barely-there and maddeningly slow.

Theoretically, she should have been impatient, maybe snapping at him to get a move on.

Not this time.

She watched him watching his own movements, his eyes following the path of his touch, making her feel doubly caressed and utterly adored. He swept his fingers across her ribs, he palmed her hip; he brushed his touch across her belly and continued down, his thumb sweeping across her pelvis and teasing at the mound of flesh just above the insistent pulsing threatening to give way to total surrender.

It was almost a shock when he dropped to his knees at the side of the bed and grabbed her legs, pulling her toward him and spreading her wide open.

“Killian, you already--”

“Let a man work, remember?” he said darkly before dipping in, this hungry and tortured look overtaking his eyes.

That changed the moment his tongue tasted her, the deep blue intensity locking on her face as he swept his tongue up. Emma couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move; all she could do was look at him as he opened his mouth and drew her flesh in, could merely gasp as he sucked on her slowly, purposefully; gentle then hard, his tongue flicking and circling as she watched helplessly.

He let go and they both gasped needed breaths, hers making her chest heave and his hot and wet against her hot and wet flesh. Then he put his palms on each of her thighs and pressed forward, his tongue merciless as he began to make little sounds of pleasure, his eyes fluttering closed when she cried out, her eyes never leaving him as he continued to work her up. Higher and tighter, she clenched and released, focusing on the different spots he hit as he moved his tongue in and out and up, the way he breathed in deep through his nose when she whispered somewhat desperately, “put your fingers inside me.” 

Without breaking his stride he shifted his shoulder and then he was entering her, fingers curling down and pressing in as he licked and tasted, his brow a study of tortured concentration and his eyes closed as he worked. And he worked and he worked and Emma wanted it to last forever but the bursting, she felt the lazy sway of pleasure cresting inside as he moved, her hips jolting and his gasp as he briefly lost contact before diving back in again, his lips seeking purchase before he found it again and then she was gone, lost in a haze of blinding sensation and light, lightness and rightness as she tensed up and let go, let go and he kept going, kept licking, kept fucking her with his fingers and his tongue and his love as she gasped and cried out and fell back with a happy sigh.

When she came to it was with a jolt, her hips yanking away from his mouth still kissing her softly. He was breathing heavy, the unmistakable sound of a man who was close, and it was a wonder, really, that eating her out could make him that close to coming. The happiness of everything--him, there with her, him, in _love_ with her, _God_ \--all of it made her feel benevolent and luxurious and just so damned _glad_. 

“Get up here,” she gasped, patting the side of the bed. “Take your pants off first.”

“Bossy,” he said, gasping a bit himself. He followed orders, shucking his pants quickly and lying down right next to her. He turned his head to kiss her but she sat up quickly, straddling him once again on a smooth roll until she had him on his back and biting her lip at how good he felt beneath her. Experimentally, she rubbed herself over his cock a few times, enjoying how satisfyingly wet he’d gotten her and how satisfying his face was in that exact moment. He reached out and grasped her hips, gingerly lifting her up and squeezing briefly with his fingers.

“Woman on top, eh?”

“I’ve been reliably informed that missionary sex is boring.”

“Ruby Lucas has a big fucking mouth.”

“True. But I mean, I know you got the all-clear and all, but I still don’t want you to strain yourself.”

“Theoretically, weight-bearing exercises should only make me stronger.”

“Theoretically, Dr. Whale probably didn’t have this in mind.”

“I don’t know, Swan. He kept asking where my girlfriend was at the appointment today.”

“Oh?” she said, not hating the sound of it. She ground down against his cock again, enjoying the way his groan rumbled across his body. “And what did you say?”

He looked her straight in the eyes as he responded.

“I told him it’s a lucky man who’d get to call you his girlfriend, but that I wasn’t that lucky.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said lightly, though she felt fit to burst inside. “Seems like you’re about to get very, very lucky.” She slid across him again, the slick delicious slide almost too much when the tip of him brushed across her clit. She paused her hips in that spot and swirled a little, earning a moan from him. 

There wasn’t a lot of talking after that. She leaned down to kiss him and he sighed into it; she shocked him by suddenly tilting her hips and taking him inside, sliding down and sitting up as she filled herself with him, a deep moan rending the air as she felt him touching every part of her. Then it became a balancing act, a burn in her thighs as she moved; she couldn’t decide on leaning back or forward because when she leaned back, bracing her palms on his thighs, he reached out and thumbed her clit, wide circles in tandem with the gyrating of her hips but when she leaned forward she could kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, and he kissed back and it was deep and it was good, so good. She swiveled her hips and he laughed; she changed direction and he laughed again, kissing her and laughing and it made her laugh, too, until it didn’t, until she was gasping, unbelieving that she was so close to coming again; hoping he was close, too. And he was if his shallow breaths were anything to go by, if the way he kept looking at her was a hint, if the way she needed to lock eyes with him as she started to slip into a numbing, pulsing stillness so she wouldn’t float away was any indication.

It was just so different from the sex she was used to having; she wasn’t racing to finish and feel good, she was both trying to prolong it and desperate to take him with her. Which she did--rolling her hips slowly as she became more aware, the good feeling still slick inside of her as her mind cleared and she could focus more on the moment. How his mouth was open, no sound coming out except the occasional stuttered breath as his hips slowed. How his eyes were drifting shut but she could still see hints of the bright blue shining through. How the scar on his chest was pink and terrible but no longer threatening to terrify her. How his shoulders were lifting as he reached for her, his fingers grasping her hips as his thrusts began to alternate between hard and erratic and stilled and stalled; by the time he started to squeeze his eyes shut and gasp she had come to enough to roll him into it, to ease him into his orgasm as he’d already done for her so many times.

When the last few jerks and thrusts inside of her slowed, she gave him one last internal squeeze before leaning down, grasping his chin in her hand and brushing her lips against his very gently; once, twice, then gave him a loud, smacking kiss as she squeezed inside very tightly one last time, earning a yelp and a smack on the ass from a very handsome, very sated man.

“Bad form, Swan.”

“Couldn’t help it.” She sighed heavily before disengaging, the two of them groaning at the sensitivity, the two of them grinning as she merely fell to his side, still half on top of him and not giving one damn how messy it all was.

“We didn’t use a condom,” he murmured sleepily after a few minutes. Emma wanted to tell him to shut up, that she was busy having a moment, but then she realized what he was saying.

“I’m still on the pill.”

“And yet. Responsibility.”

“Right. ‘There’s got to be a morning after,’ and all that.”

“Ah.” Emma shut her eyes, wondering if this was going to be the moment that it got awkward sleeping with your best friend after telling him that you were in love with him, but surprisingly, it just felt like normal. As if her big revelation was just another step on her way to...him. She opened her eyes and tilted her chin, stupidly happy to find him already staring at her with a grin on his face.

“One of these days, I’ll last longer than a sailor on his first shore leave, I promise.”

“Yeah, really,” Emma laughed, rolling her eyes and just feeling so damned giddy. “Where’s this prowess I’ve been hearing about for so long? I mean, theoretically, a manwhore like you and a one-night wonder like me really ought to be having mind-boggling sex.”

“Oi, are you saying you’ve been left unsatisfied? Because you give me an hour to recover and I’ll fuck you so hard and with such vigor, they’ll have to bury you in a y-shaped coffin.”

She could have made it a light, fun moment. She could have. But the truth was, Emma felt so good and so loved that she couldn’t be bothered. So, for once in her life, she went with sincerity.

“No,” she said, softly. “I’m satisfied. I...I love this, Killian. And you, I love you.”

That very sincerity seemed to throw him for a loop; his eyes softened, too, and she thought she saw worlds swimming in them just before he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead.

“I’ve loved you so long, I don’t remember what I was like before we met. I’ve never not been in love with you, far as I’m concerned.”

“I can live with that,” she replied, a little too overcome to respond in kind. One day she would, she knew it.

“I’m going to make you,” he said, his voice seeming far away and carrying her to sleep; a warm, comforting sleep in the cradle of his arms.

* * *

“Go the fuck away.”

“Huh?” Emma grumbled, rolling over smack into a solid wall of warm, bare chest.

“Someone’s at the door,” Killian moaned in despair. She blinked her eyes open and grinned, she couldn’t help it; waking up in his arms was definitely something good. Even if there was a persistent knocking coming from the front of the apartment. Killian rolled out of bed and Emma fell into the warm divot where he’d been lying.

“Aren’t you going to put a shirt on?” Emma called out, her voice hoarse and happy as he stumbled out of the room. 

“Love, it is seven in the morning and I have Emma Swan in my bed. Whomever is at the door deserves both my ire and my hairy-chested glory.”

Emma drifted off back to sleep for exactly ninety seconds, the time it took for a person (or people) to come skipping happily into the bedroom from the front door.

“Well, what do we have here?”

“Fuck off, Ruby.”

“Look, Mary Margaret. She looks satisfied. Doesn’t she look satisfied?”

“I was worried when you didn’t call, honey,” came Mary Margaret’s voice. Emma groaned and slung her arm over her face, pulling sheets up to her chin with the other. 

“You don’t sound worried. You sound gleeful.”

“Well, when you didn’t answer your phone…”

“...we knew something was up. We just didn’t know that something was Killian’s--”

“Go away, the both of you. Wait.” Emma sat up in a panic, clutching the sheet to her chest. “Is David here?” Her two friends looked at her, their eyes wide, like she was crazy.

“Sheesh, Em. We’re not crazy.”

“Yeah, Emma. He’d kill you.”

“Me? What about Killian?” Emma grumbled, looking around for clothes. Ruby leaned down and picked a shirt up off the floor--Killian’s, actually--and tossed it at her face.

“Oh, he’ll kill him, too. But he’d kill you first. He’s known how Killian feels forever, doesn’t want his bestest buddy hurt. Speaking of--”

“Shut up, you two. This is all very new for us.” _Us_ , Emma thought happily, shrugging into the shirt that smelled like warm boy.

“Ooh, so there’s an ‘us’ now.”

“Yeah.” Emma couldn’t keep from grinning. Then, “Wait. David knew?”

“Everyone knew, Emma. Except you.”

“I know, I know.”

“Real talk: who’s going to tell Regina?”

“Oh, lord.”

“I will be talking to my sister, with Emma, if she likes.” Killian appeared at the door with an entire tray of coffee mugs; Emma grinned again, big and goofy, thinking, _this is going to work._

“So I can schedule a conference call with everyone but you two for this evening so we can all discuss how we feel about this new development,” Ruby said, taking a mug and winking at Killian as she took a sip. 

“You guys aren’t going to make this easy, are you,” Emma sighed, smiling at Killian and not once taking her eyes off of him as she sipped at her own coffee. 

“No way.”

“Not a chance,” agreed Mary Margaret. “In fact, I’m thinking about making a Pinterest board dedicated to your love.”

Everyone, Emma included, laughed. Later, she wondered whether her friend was serious and decided she never wanted to know.

* * *

_Happy Birthday to the love of my life_

Emma smiled as she read the card. It was piece of thick, white cardstock with nothing printed on it, just his neat handwriting on the inside next to a little drawing of a swan. 

“What a sap,” she murmured fondly.

“A sap in a hurry,” he said behind her. “Come, love. Let’s sail away.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she replied, laughing as she followed him aboard their boat.

They wouldn’t be sailing the world like he’d once wanted because of jobs and real life, but two years together was long enough for them to know that saving up to buy a boat was something that needed to happen. 

They’d be making the maiden voyage of the _Theoretically_ alone, but Ruby, Dorothy, Mary Margaret, David, Rob and Regina had informed them loudly and often that their new party boat was something to be shared by all.

Their friends were continually annoyed and disappointed by Emma and Killian’s continued refusal to explain the meaning behind the name they’d chosen, though.

Too bad.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr! this-too-too-sullied-flesh is me.


End file.
